Page Six
by cakeisnotpie
Summary: The course of love never did run smooth - and when there are enemies like Victor Von Doom and A.I.M., Bruce should have expected them to use his relationship with Clint to drive a wedge between the team. But Clint is too caught up with a ghostly visitor and the skeletons in his own closet to see the coming storm as they are forced out of the closet and onto the front page.
1. Chapter 1

Part 1 of "Page Six" series of Hulkeye stories

Rating: T

Children, a party in Stark Tower, and a Halloween Ghost. It is, it is a glorious thing to be a Pirate King. Just for fun, I added links to all the costumes mentioned in the story. Thanks to Katya for her help and research. And, for the record, I'm in complete agreement with Thor ... and if JFR ever wants to play pirate, I'm available. :)

"Trick or Treat!"

An Iron Man, a princess, a pirate, a fairy, and two Hulks filled the hallway of Stark Tower. Pumpkin buckets bulged, full of candy, and the older kids who shepherded the motley crew carried bags overflowing with all kinds of sugary treats. Offices were decorated with flashing lights, cackling witches, and lots of fake webs, each group vying for the prize of Best Section. The lawyers had nixed the appearance of the real Iron Man and Hulk for 'safety reasons,' afraid that the Hulk would hurt a child or Tony's weapons might go off (no one really believed the Big Guy would hurt any munchkins), but the lawyers had spoken, so Tony formed a new plan. Childhood fantasies, he called it; what did you want to be when you grew up? Of course, no rules had been issued for the adult after party, so Clint was sure Tony had different ideas for that.

"Argh, mateys!" Clint called to the group. "There are punch and pumpkin cookies just down the hall. Plundering is thirsty work!"

"What are you supposed to be?" The ginger hair, older boy was probably 14-years-old, and he slouched against the wall in his jeans and hoodie, distain written on his face. Clint remembered that age well, when it wasn't cool to like Halloween any more.

"I," he said, swishing his fake saber, "am the Pirate King." The little kids giggled and he winked at them. With his purple silk shirt, black leather pants, red silk sash, and leather sword belt, Clint looked more like the Kevin Kline version than a real pirate. The hardest part had been finding the boots, but he was sure it would be worth it later when Bruce got a good look at them.

"Right. Like there are pirates today." Bad attitude oozed from the boy's whole body and posture. Clint ignored the jab and smiled at the others.

"We better hurry. I hear there's a cookie thief in the building, so if he gets there first …" The squeals were followed by a stampede of little feet; sulky teen followed more slowly, and Clint noticed he paused to peer into a lab. "Cute lab tech?" Clint asked.

"Yeah, that's it." The boy huffed and turned to follow the others into the room ahead.

"Ah, you're a science type then," Clint nodded sagely. "Want a tour?"

"Look, dude. For all I know, you could be a perv, right? I'm not going in there alone with you."

"Good boy." Clint pressed his thumb onto the security pad and the outer door slid open. "There are plenty of people working in here. Safety in numbers." He paused and waited. "You want to see?"

The boy shrugged but entered the room, eyeing the equipment curiously, moving through the tables. A female lab worker, dressed as Abby Sciuto from _NCIS_, came through with a tray of test tubes.

"So you wanted to be a lab tech when you grew up, Carol?" Clint asked her. The dark haired woman smiled in return. "Hey, this is … What's your name, kid?"

"Kevin." Gone was the cocky attitude, replaced by the awkwardness of a teenage boy around a pretty woman.

"Kevin's interested in science and would like a lab tour, right, Kev?" The boy managed a nod.

"Of course!" Carol answered. "Did you know that we're collaborating with someone who just won a Nobel Prize? He's working on neurotransmitters and brain chemistry." Kevin walked off with her, his eyes wide and excited.

"Carol," Clint called before they left the room, "bring him back in one piece by seven okay?"

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The party was in full swing, kids mingling with both Stark and S.H.I.E.L.D. employees, everyone in costumes. One of Tony's robots was serving punch, much to the delight of the children. Steve was surrounded; As Flash Gordon, his red shirt boasted a yellow lightning bolt, and he was passing out vintage candy. Tony had introduced him to Dylan's Candy Bar after he'd discovered Steve's sweet tooth, and now there were bowls of the stuff all over the common areas. Hair slicked back and fake laser pistol on his hip, or maybe not fake if Clint knew Tony's sense of humor, Steve was clearly enjoying himself as he asked the kids all sorts of questions about their costumes.

Pepper was in a colonial dress, hair neatly tucked into a bonnet, handing out Avenger themed school supplies; as Abigail Adams, wife of John Adams, she was, as she had laughingly said, the power behind the throne. A number of other female employees were dressed as other women from history – Queen Elizabeth, Catherine the Great, and even a short-haired Joan of Arc – and they were all laughing and helping replenish the seemingly endless supply of cookies.

The biggest draw in the room was centered on Thor, Jane, and Darcy. Thor had worried about his costume, having wanted only to be a great warrior and king his whole life, but then he'd said that Jane had taken care of it. And she certainly had. Jane was a pink Power Ranger, complete with mask and big plastic gun. Thor was - well, damn, Clint thought, the Asgardian even made the spandex outfit of a red Power Ranger look good. But Darcy was over the top; dressed in a cosplay Nadira costume, she pouted and waved and gave shopping tips to all, handing out little boxes that looked suspiciously like ipods to every kid. Clint shook his head at the excess, but knew that Thor had recently discovered the exchange rate for gold and platinum and that being frugal just wasn't the God of Thunder's style.

"I have to give you credit," Natasha said. "You had a good idea." She paused to look at him. "The Pirate King, right? Or did you just want to drive Bruce crazy?"

"Hey, two birds, one stone. Nadezhda Durova?" Clint guessed. Nat beamed at him.

"Dead center!" Her hair was slicked back into a short male style, and she'd somehow minimized both her chest and hips, looking for the world like a young man in an 18th century cavalry uniform. "Oh, fair warning. Don't ask Thor about the Power Rangers. He's watched nine seasons so far and can argue the merits of Zeo versus Turbo. He spent 45 minutes this afternoon explaining why Time Force is his favorite."

Tony picked that moment to make his entrance; deerstalker hat, pipe in one hand, long black coat over an impeccable Edwardian suit, he shouted, "Watson! The game is afoot!" Leave it to Tony to pick an eccentric genius almost sociopathic detective as his hero.

As Clint watched the commotion, a figure caught his eye; the costume seemed familiar, and it took him a few moments to place it. The father's ghost from _Hamlet._ And not just any version of the ghost, but specifically Brannagh's production. Focusing, Clint let all the other sounds fade; he had blue eyes, was the right height, and, although he was too slim, the costume itself that told Clint all he needed to know.

"Clint?" Natasha asked. "What is it?"

"Do you remember London? 2008?" Nat's head turned to stare at him, and he nodded in the direction of the ghost, catching her eyes.

"Where?" She asked, and by the time Clint turned back, the figure was gone.

"Cover for me." With all of the distractions, slipping away to follow a ghost was easy, especially when Clint had a good idea where he was going. The evening was blustery and cool, and the balcony was splattered with rain drops, wind whipping around the glass barriers. He was waiting, elbows leaning on the railing.

"I swear that's the exact costume." Clint stopped a few feet away. "Or are you really a ghost sent to haunt us all?"

"Online auction to raise money for a charity." He offered Clint a wan smile. "I hear you've broken a few more rules, but that's not news."

"Same old, same old. Secrets upon secrets." Resting on his arms, Clint joined him, looking out over the city.

"How was Singapore?"

Clint laughed. "Still know everything before it even happens, eh?" They stood in silence together for a few minutes. "I suppose this is on a need-to-know basis." A look was all Clint needed. "Or you'll have to kill me. I know the drill, but Nat's probably already figured it out." No response but a quirk of his lips. Clint knew not to rush him; waiting was the only option.

"I haven't seen any post-psych eval reports in a while. You're behind on your schedule," he said calmly. Clint simply stared. "Paperwork is important."

"I'm not crazy. At least not any more than usual."

"Can you tell a hawk from a handsaw when the wind is southerly?" He pushed away from the railing and Clint noted how carefully he moved. "Finish those evals, agent. That's an order." He turned and went back inside; Clint stood for a long time, staring into the night.

"I don't know who's having more fun, the children or Tony." Bruce joined him and leaned back onto his elbows. "He's got PSPs for all of them when they leave. He's such a big kid."

Clint looked him up and down, and a grin split his face. "Damn. Cowboys are hot." Bruce was wearing all black with a low slung gun belt and matching cowboy hat, trimmed in silver. "Paladin, right?_Have Gun, Will Travel_?"

"Reruns on weekdays at 4 pm, just after I got home from school. I loved that time, before dad came home, just me and mom. She'd make me a peanut butter and strawberry jam sandwich with a glass of milk."

"Strawberry Jam?" Clint pushed up and stepped in front of Bruce. "That's weird. Everyone knows you use grape jelly." He leaned in, propped on his hands, stopping just short of bodies touching. "Good thing I like weird." He kissed Bruce softly. "I could kidnap you and we could get to the plundering sooner."

"And miss the kids leaving and whatever debauchery Tony has planned for afterwards?" Bruce raised an eyebrow. "I'm looking forward to a semi-drunk pirate and that red sash."

"Okay, okay." Clint stepped back and they started in together. "You familiar with Hamlet?" At Bruce's look, Clint knew that was a dumb question. "Southerly wind. Know a hawk from a hand saw?"

"Ah, that's where Hamlet is talking to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, and they're no longer sure if he is insane or just pretending to be insane. Unfortunately, whether he is mentally unbalanced or crazy like a fox, the bodies pile up. Wherever the wind blows him, that's what he's saying." Bruce held the door open and the warmth of the room hit them both, reminding them how cold it had grown outside.

"Like Bohemian Rhapsody. Anyway the wind blows," Clint said. "What? Queen rocks, doc." Bruce stopped and waited until Clint turned to look at him, the question unspoken. "First we find some rum, watch the Tony and Steve show for a bit, then the looting and pillaging." Clint headed into the noise of kids bundling up for the bus ride back to the home. "I'll tell you when I can, okay?"

"Um, hey, I just wanted to say thanks, for the lab thing, right?" Kevin detoured from the group as the two men approached. "It was really cool."

"Kevin, this is Dr. Banner. Bruce, Kevin." Clint took care of the introductions.

"Dr. Bruce Banner?" Kevin stared. "Um, I read about your work and did a science project on it last year. It was, um, awesome." He was as tongue-tied meeting Bruce as he had been around Carol.

"Really? I'd love to hear about it sometime. Maybe you can come back and tell me the details …" Bruce walked Kevin down the hallway and the two lapsed into science talk, Bruce's head bent down to hear Kevin's words. As they moved away, Clint turned back into the party, where Tony had already spiked the punch and opened the bar. Later, he thought. It always came down to later. Except for that damn paperwork. He just might have to move later up to sooner for both ghosts and cowboys.


	2. Chapter 2

"Damn thing is a chimera. Every time we get near to figuring out its parts, it slips away from us." Tony looked up from his screen for a second before he dove back into the rotating 3D model in front of him. Bruce tapped his stylus absently on the table; calculating on the fly, his fingers slid across the screen, marking variables and changing the equations.

"Wheels are off the ground," Steve said as he came through the door. "ETA 8 a.m. Mission successful and no injuries to speak of." He stopped to look at the rapid flow of numbers on the screen. "No luck yet?"

A box popped up on Bruce's computer. "Results are back from the latest simulation. That was fast." He threw the email to Tony who opened the file with a tap.

_Leaving a Middle Eastern restaurant on the lower East side, Bruce's head was tilted towards Clint's, both of them in street clothes, wind ruffling Bruce's hair and causing Clint to hunch into his jacket. Clint was laughing, his eyes on Bruce's face, deep in a conversation, if Bruce remembered correctly, about Darcy's latest scheme to get a job with S.H.E.I.L.D. _

The photo hung there for a half a minute and was replaced by a second one.

_Clint with a hot dog, loaded with chili, relish, onions, and mustard, navigating a busy intersection while trying to keep even with Bruce. Carrying a couple bags from the market, Bruce stepped around a woman with a stroller as he looked at the messy food in Clint's hand, an indulgent smile on his face._

"What the hell?" Steve asked the room in general.

Bruce knew exactly when the third and fourth picture had been taken.

_They'd been to see a late movie and come out to a light rain; the rollercoaster of fall temperatures had taken a downward dive and Clint, as usual, hadn't checked the weather before they left. Since Clint was shivering, Bruce used his coat to cover them both, and they ducked their heads underneath to avoid the cold drops. Clint had laughed and said that, if this was one of those cheesy romantic comedies, they'd end up kissing in the rain. The camera had caught Bruce's hand tucked on Clint's bicep and Clint eyes crinkled up, mouth open in mid-laugh. _

The next frame was a tighter shot, zoomed in, lines of rain evident in the shot.

_Clint had suggested they stop under an awning when the sky opened up and rain poured down. He'd pushed Bruce's back against the wall, bracing his arm on the bricks, saying "leaning is whole bodies moving in like this." He'd leaned in then, faces close enough for Bruce to feel Clint's breath. "Leaning involves wanting... and accepting. Leaning..." The light from the storefront behind them cast a series of shadows on them, lending the scene a romantic mood._

"Might want to frame that one," Tony offered. "Pretty tame stuff, really, considering what's on the internet with me as the star. You could have …." He stopped talking as the second to last picture popped up,pixelated and poor quality, but clear enough to know exactly what was happening.

_Bruce's shirt was untucked, half-open and slipping off one shoulder. He was kissing Clint, bodies pressed tightly together, a sense of urgency and passion as they tried to occupy the same space. Clint's fingers were tearing at Bruce's pants, and Bruce's hands clenched tight on Clint's bare ass, just above the leather straps of his thigh holster. _

"Damn fine ass on the man, I'll give him that," Tony commented. Steve glared at him, and Tony shrugged in response.

"Tony, do you think that's appropriate?"

And then Tony gave a wolf whistle and turned his head to the each side, taking in all angles of the last image; Steve coughed and dropped his eyes, a blush creeping up his face.

_Clint's head and back hung over the edge of the terrace, his arms wrapped around Bruce whose hands were braced on the ledge. Half-clothed and completely consumed in the moment, their lips were locked in a kiss, Clint's legs tight around Bruce's waist, leaving little to the imagination._

"Bruce!" Tony crowed. "Atta boy, kinky devil! How'd you keep from falling off …" He looked intently again. "Is that the purple shirt I picked out?"

Then words appeared on the screen before it went blank.

_ENJOY YOUR 15 MINUTES._

"What does that mean?" Steve asked, but Tony was already in motion.

"Jarvis!" he barked. "Check the New York papers for the morning edition. Look for anything about Bruce Banner, Clint Barton, the Hulk, Hawkeye … any mention of Avengers at all. Pull it up when you have it."

"Working on it, sir."

"That was the penthouse, right?" Tony went into one of his manic overdrives, operating three screens at the same time. "How the hell did they get past the security screen? I designed that myself."

"Sir, I have the information you asked for," Jarvis said, and the cover of the _New York Gazette_ appeared, two pictures framed by a blaring headline. On the left was the image of them kissing on the terrace, but the photo had been cropped to show only their shoulders and heads. The printing process made the picture even worse, but the one on the right was clear. It had been taken moments after the earlier ones in rain.

_The kiss was easy and slow, the coolness of the rain pushed back by the heat of their bodies as Clint was dragging his lips across Bruce's, leaning all the way in until their chests were touching; a passerby trudged along the street behind them, head down under his rain coat hood, oblivious to the scene under the awning._

GAY AVENGERS IN LOVE, the paper screamed.

Bruce sat immobile, the heat in his face not from embarrassment, but the creeping anger that threatened to swamp his brain. Taking off his glasses, he pinched the bridge of his nose as he struggled, trying to bring himself back under control; the other guy grew insistent to get out, wanting to protect Clint by breaking a few heads.

"Breath," Steve said beside him. "This is what they want. We can't give it to them." The logical part of him knew that was true, but the jealous, protective part wanted to tear out of the lab and find who was responsible. And the other guy wanted to do even more than that.

"Jarvis, what time do the early editions go to print? See if you can get into the paper's system and shut this down." When he set his mind to it, Tony could move with astonishing speed; he was back tracking the file's path of origin even as he dialed his cell phone. "Marty," he said as someone answered. "Yes, I know what time of night it is. I need you to do me a big favor. What do you know about the _Gazette_'s morning edition printing schedule?"

"Actually, the one in the rain is a lovely image," Steve offered. "It would make a good pencil sketch." Something about the thought gave Bruce enough strength to push the other guy back for the moment, even managing a half-smile.

"I'd like that. I'll frame it and give it Clint for his birthday." Bruce gave a rueful smile, knowing that the can of worms was open now, and there was no going back.

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"Why am I the last fucking person to know about this?" Fury sighed as he paced the length of the small conference room. "S.H.E.I.L.D. rigs are clear on fraternization between agents. First, don't do it. Second, DON'T DO IT. And third, if you're going to fucking break the rule, then you better goddamn TELL ME ABOUT IT! That's all I ask people. Tell me so I'm not blindsided by a phone call at 3:45 a.m. in the morning."

"Look, I know exactly how to handle this. We'll have a little press conference … no, wait, we'll have a big coming out party. Tell them to kiss our ass; it's the 21st century, and who cares anyway." Tony propped his feet up on the table to annoy Fury.

"Don't start with me, Stark. That little stunt of shutting down the presses only made matters worse." Fury shot back.

"Sir, if I may, the real issue here is the culprits behind this. Even I know that breaking into our system to send the file and circumventing Tony's security screen means advanced technology. Could this be A.I.M. again? Or is Victor Von Doom upset about us having the neural inhibitor he designed?" Steve tried to calm the tension in the room, watching Bruce from the corner of his eye. Tony's anger was mostly about his own inability to find answers so far; the more time this took, the more pointed Tony's snark. And Tony was the master of fileting with words.

"May I remind you, I am not a S.H.E.I.L.D. employee," Bruce injected. "And if there are any reprisals against Clint, you can kiss both me and the other guy good bye." His voice was calm and controlled, but Fury still gave him a hard look and Tony snorted at Bruce's choice of words.

"That's not necessary Dr. Banner." Fury said in a calmer voice as he tapped the screen and the emailed photos came up. "Fortunately, these are fairly harmless, so we can work with that. Much as I hate agreeing with Stark, I think we can ride this out. Just go about your normal activities. These things tend to have a short life cycle in the news."

Bruce braced himself as the images chased one another, faster this time; for someone who often woke up naked in public, he was actually very reserved about nudity; the idea of their intimate moments on public display bothered him. But the two photos on the terrace didn't appear, only the cropped version from the paper. Tony winked when Bruce looked askance and Steve gave a small nod. A bit of his tension eased, knowing that the other men had covered for them. Not that he wasn't sure all of the photos would find their way into Fury's hands, but not having to sit in a conference room and watch them again helped him keep his composure.

"Let's start with the why," Fury said as he halted at the head of the table. "Distraction? Divide and conquer? What will they gain from this?"

"It's personal," Clint said as he entered the room, still in his battle gear, dirt and blood smeared on his arms from the last mission. "He rubbed it in Monica's face in Black Mesa, so she's hitting back hard. Destroy the Hulk first, make him a liability, and drive him away from us. Alone, he can be caged. With the team beside him, she can't get him." He stopped beside Bruce and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Turning public opinion against us is a bonus." The pictures kept scrolling, passing the kiss in the rain. "Oh, I like that one. Can I get an 8 x 10?" Clint leaned down to Bruce. "It looks like I'm leaning." He grinned and Bruce gave a shake of his head with a ghost of a smile.

"The interest will last until something else knocks them off the front page," Natasha offered, dropping her tired body into a chair; dried blood spattered her left cheek. "Dirt on politicians is usually worth a couple days, more if we pick the right scumbag to out."

"We are not going to start another scandal for our own benefit," Steve insisted, but Tony's voice overrode the objection.

"Jarvis, send me the file labeled Halloween 2011 please," Tony ordered. "One of those ought to do it."

"Tony, no. We're not going to stoop to their level," Steve turned his chair to look at Stark.

"Okay, I'll pick someone who deserves it," Tony gave him a predatory smile. "One self-righteous hypocrite coming right up."

"Enough," Bruce said over them all, his voice deep with a hint of a growl. "I don't give a damn about the pictures or public opinion, so my vote is that we simply ignore it." He stood up. "I've got test results to check. Tony, I'm sure, would prefer to be working on security breaches. And I imagine Clint and Natasha would like a shower and some sleep."

"Oh, come on, he'd deserve it," Tony said, sliding his notebook over to Clint. "Don't you agree, Barton?" Clint glanced, and then stared at the image on the small screen, clearing his throat. Tasha flicked her eyes over; her only reaction was to lightly bite her bottom lip, but Clint knew she'd seen the picture.

"I'm going with Bruce on this one," Clint returned the notebook, ignoring Tony's self-congratulatory grin. "I certainly wouldn't mind some hot water then a warm bed for 24 hours or so."

Fury braced his hands on the table. "Fine. Find me the people responsible for this. Figure out how they got into a secure system and past Tony's best screening programs. And let me be perfectly clear. There will be NO leaking of pictures or any other material about anyone without my permission and knowledge. Am I understood?"

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No matter what state he was in, Clint always took the time to properly clean and store his weapons. Tony might be a real prick – and dropping his and Bruce's sex photo in his lap with Fury just feet away was a dick move – but he had installed every convenience in the Tower. Clint's private armory was state of the art; as he carefully ran a check of his bow, taking it apart for cleaning, he verbally entered the number and types of arrows lost and damage to be repaired. The digital screen registered his notes and sent an order for replacements instantly. Something about the ritual was soothing, allowing his mind to settle before he went to sleep. For once, the mission had gone as smoothly as a mission could, with only minor hiccups, but landing to find he was a porn star was certainly new. Honestly, Clint could care less; growing up in a carnival almost guaranteed that he was okay with exhibitionism and, well, it wasn't like Stark didn't have a ton of YouTube videos of his exploits that made these pics look tame in comparison. Bruce was what worried Clint, specifically the fact that they been taking things very slow and easy, letting whatever was between them develop at its own pace. Suddenly, they were poised to become poster children for gay relationships, and he wasn't sure how the Big Guy or Bruce would feel about that. He didn't want to even think about it himself; if he did, he'd have to notice they'd been practically living together for a month, spending the nights they were both in residence in each other's bed. A spare pair of glasses had found their way into Clint's nightstand drawer, the one with the table lamp that lit Bruce's notebook while Clint slept. Clint's sweats were folded neatly in Bruce's closet, and his battered paperback copy of _The Two Towers_ was tucked in a drawer in Bruce's labs for quiet days. If Clint really let himself, he'd know that Bruce was more centered – in fact, Bruce had been talked into letting the Big Guy out to play in the practice room twice in the last month – and that Clint was sleeping better, having fewer nightmares that left him feeling half-strangled and sopping in his own sweat.

"I sent the proper paperwork for a workplace relationship to your inbox," he said from the doorway. Clint had sensed him as he entered; they'd worked together too many times for him not to know the agent's scent or pattern of movements. "You'll have to fill out all 27 pages in triplicate, of course. Blood work can be completed in the lab within 48 hours."

Clint turned to find him wearing S.H.E.I.L.D. issued sweats, hood pulled up, arms crossed as he shifted his weight back and forth on feet. Coulson didn't have a lot of tells, but that was one of them; he was joking, poking fun at both Clint and S.H.E.I.L.D's penchant for forms. He looked better than the last time Clint had seen him, less pale, more flesh on his bones.

"Better send me the entire packet – permission to have sex, past partner declaration, kinks and requirements form, and request to file for a joint movie night rotation slot. I'll get right on that." He brushed past the other man, into the living area, tossing his vest onto his favorite red comfy chair. "I imagine you'll have to invent a whole mess of new forms for creating a public scandal … no wait, with Tony onboard those already exist, right?"

Coulson picked up the items of clothing as Clint dropped them, folding them neatly and placing them into the cleaning bin. "Oh, yes, Tony has his own personal set of forms. He never fills them out though. Pepper does it for him." He paused. "You know, Barton, your habit of over thinking things and not talking about them might be a problem. In fact, I hoped Dr. Banner might be here. They want to drive a wedge between you two. Don't let the skeletons in your closet help them." He turned to go. "And don't leave your wet towel on the floor. That's form 4257-c. I'll send one just in case."

_Clint was deep asleep when Bruce finally slipped in beside him, and he snuggled up to Bruce's warmth with an unintelligible mumble and a sigh. Bruce had almost not come, trying to convince himself that he needed to keep working, even when the numbers started to run together and he was practically asleep in his chair. He had let the photos feed his doubts about his ability to have anything good in his life. But the other guy had been entirely too restless; only when he could feel Clint's heartbeat, slow and steady against his bare skin, and could tuck his arm under the other man's chest, pulling him close, did he feel the anger start to seep away. Deep breaths, even that slight little occasional snore – the sounds of Clint sleeping were becoming a necessity for Bruce, and it scared him. Ghosting his hand over Clint's bare skin, Bruce settled in and waited for the coming storm._


	3. Chapter 3

What a Piece of Work is Man

Part 3 of "Page Six", a new Hulkeye series

So, I wanted to show some different viewpoints here, so you get interior monologues of four different people. It was kind of fun. Oh, and the idea of the couch is fromhere, but mine is bigger with more bells and whistles.

Rating: M

Previous: Stop the Presses

_Some held their signs like weapons, stabbing them high as if the very air offended them. Others were weary, feet shuffling back and forth to keep upright, eyes downcast to avoid the curious and the angry stares. The cold snap didn't deter them from their vigil, just across the street from the tower, blocking the late autumn sun with placards that declared exactly who God hated. It was the children that bothered Steve the most, youngsters raised up to vilify others, to see the rest of the world as dark and evil; that's how Hitler had come to power, and Steve had vowed to fight that kind of oppression in the world. Yet here it was, in New York City, spewed out upon his friends and colleagues, two men he was proud to have on his team, who had risked their very lives to save these people. At least today, there were some just as loud and vocal about their support – and the memory of Tony mouthing off to one of the protestors who tried to sneak in the garage entrance made him smile – so maybe that was better than the constant fear he'd lived with. Even now, Steve felt the tendrils of it curling around his heart, the worry that someone would find out, someone who wasn't a friend or sympathetic enough to keep quiet._

Steve pushed his thoughts aside and looked over at Tony, who was sprawled in the new couch he'd just had delivered. It was a monster of a thing, big enough for ten adults to sink into and disappear. Natasha had nicknamed it "the nest," and tonight was its maiden movie night.

"They still out there? Good lord, it's going to get cold tonight. Someone should tell them Hell has frozen over and that's a sign from God to give it up and go home." Tony was flipping through the seemingly endless channels on the satellite TV, and he paused on news coverage of the five day old _breaking event_ of anti-gay protesters outside of Stark Tower.

"God doesn't have anything to do with those people out there," Steve said vehemently, blowing on the steaming coffee in his mug before taking a sip. "Twisted scripture and human hatred. That's what's on display."

"Sorry, but when you believe God kills soldiers as retribution for homosexuality? That's just fucked up." Tony replied.

"Not all Christians are like that you know." Steve flinched at the condemnation in Tony's tone. "Love your neighbor. That's the most important commandment. Not 'love the neighbor who is most like you and agrees with you'."

"Look, I know that, okay? It's just that I can't get on board with the whole divine power thing," Tony looked directly at the other man, aware that he was treading on slippery ground.

"Your problem is, you don't like people telling you want to do." Steve sat his mug down in the drink holder on the opposite corner of the square couch. He swung into the lounge like seat and immediately sighed. The lumbar support put his head in right in the neck pillow and the slight support under his knees let all the stress fall off of his back. "Wow. Okay. I'll admit defeat. I may never move again." Steve's foot bumped Tony's knee; the nest wasn't made for the faint of heart. With everyone seated, there would be a lot of bumping and touching and nudging – which was probably Tony's plan. For a fleeting moment, Steve thought about crawling over there and kissing the dark haired idiot until he put down the remote and focused on him.

"Besides, Bruce and Clint don't give a rat's ass, so everything is fine." Tony shrugged and changed the channel yet again.

Steve opened his eyes at Tony's comment. "And if you believe that, I've got a bridge in Brooklyn I could sell you. Sometimes, Tony, you are clueless, you know that?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_Bruce knew that he was hiding, and he didn't care. It was just that he felt, well, out-of-sorts lately, what with all the commotion of the protests and talking heads and security breaches and everything turned sideways._

"I brought you some chocolate coconut cupcakes from Billy's," Clint said from the door, box in hand; he slid it across the table. "You trying to duck out on movie night? Don't worry, Steve and Jane ganged up on Tony and put the kibosh on _Brokeback Mountain_ for the evening's entertainment. Besides, it's your pick anyway," Clint said as he peered at the equations moving across the screen.

"It's just that I'm so close." Bruce wasn't exactly lying; he did feel the tug of the numbers pulling his attention back, but he pushed the screen away, picking up the pastry. "I'm beginning to worry that you know my weaknesses." He peeled off the paper and took a big bite, eyes closing at the sinfully decadent taste of toasted coconut.

"I saw Father Randall earlier. Went by St. Agnes to check up on Kevin. Everything's ready; he should start after school in Carol's lab next week. And I talked to the science magnet school. He's got a good shot at getting in there next year." Clint stood and moved absently around the table as he talked. Bruce watched him; something was bothering Clint. Pushing wouldn't make Clint get to the point any faster, so Bruce settled back and took another bite.

When he finally came to a stop behind him, Clint slipped a hand around Bruce's waist. "Someone recently reminded me that I tend to be pretty closed mouthed." He reached across Bruce and stole a finger full of icing. "I really don't give a damn who knows about us or what everyone else thinks. But I do care about whatever this thing is we're doing and how we impact the team." Bending slightly, he dropped a light kiss into Bruce's hair. "I tend to handle things by hiding out and nursing my wounds, so don't take that to mean I'm out of here." The kisses trailed down to become nibbles on Bruce's ear. "I also think in worse case scenarios; it's my job to figure out how to destroy things and I'm damn good at it." Hands curved around to dance lightly over Bruce's cock, feather-like tentative strokes as if Clint was hesitating, unsure.

"I know," was all Bruce could think to say. Spinning his stool around, he pulled Clint down to him, lips demanding Clint open for him. Of everything in his life right now, Bruce had no doubts about this, the feel of his body responding as Clint sagged down onto his lap, straddling Bruce so their cocks rubbed together. No doubt about the heat that bloomed quickly, as if every time was the first time. No doubt that this was more than just physical reaction. It was far too late to not get hurt; he was already emotionally invested in this amazing man.

Clint groaned as they ground against each other, and Bruce pulled them tighter into contact, letting the friction of the fabric rasp along the sensitive skin. Turning the stool back around, Bruce stood up and kicked it back. With a quick lift, he sat Clint on the table. "Jarvis, privacy protocol 725c." Stepping inside Clint's parted legs, he ran his hand down, pressing with the base of his palm along the denim's seam, back and forth, until Clint wiggled and grabbed either side of his face, slaking his need with his tongue swirling in Bruce's mouth, sharing the taste of coconut.

"You make me feel like I'm a horny sixteen-year-old," Clint murmured into his mouth. "I used to have some control you know." And then he groaned as Bruce's fingers popped the button on his jeans, coaxing down the zipper, freeing his straining erection.

"I like it when you lose control," Bruce told him, enjoying the silky feel of Clint's cock under his hand, the way he sucked in a breath when Bruce caressed the straining head with his thumb, and how each word Clint muttered became more graphic as he spread the pearly drops over and around, slickening his fingers until they glided up and down. "Your eyes get bluer and you bite your lip and then you talk dirty …" He chuckled, watching the effects of his touches cross Clint's face.

He lowered himself down to his knees and glanced back up; Clint's eyes were hooded with desire and were that one particular shade of blue that drove Bruce crazy, and his lips were slightly parted as he breathed. Keeping eye contact, Bruce reached for the cupcake and swirled his finger through the icing, pausing deliberately to see Clint's quirky little smile before he slathered the sugary stuff on Clint's cock.

"Ah, hell," Clint muttered, jumping lightly. "Now I have to mark that off my list … Fuck!" Clint cursed as Bruce took his time licking it off, tongue curling around Clint's shaft to catch every sweet bite. One hand cupped Clint's balls, squeezing lightly, as he took the whole length into his mouth, letting the flavors of the icing mix with the flavor uniquely Clint. Bracing himself on his hands, Clint leaned back and let his hips surge forward to the table's edge; he bumped Bruce's screen and the display began spinning data, popping out of sleep mode, but Bruce didn't even notice, intent on the feel of Clint, the sounds of pleasure Clint made with each pull of Bruce's mouth. He felt the tension in Clint's thighs, the little jerks of his cock, and he slipped his mouth off, standing up to finish him off with a few motions with his hand, hugging Clint to his chest as he groaned into his release.

Bruce's first instinct was to tell Clint it would be okay as he shuddered and gasped through the after effects, but he held his tongue, not sure if that was the right thing to say, worried that something else even more inappropriate would come tumbling out of his mouth. He settled for kisses, down the side of Clint's head until he came to his lips which he touched softly, swallowing Clint's murmured sounds until he stopped and pulled away to rest his forehead on Bruce's shoulder. Clint nudged his knee between Bruce's legs and rubbed. "Your turn," he said with a slow, sated smile.

"Dr. Banner, Ms. Danvers has requested admission. She says she has important test results that need your attention." Jarvis' voice interrupted, and Clint let out a string of foul language.

"I don't have to," Bruce started, but Clint cut him off with a quick kiss and a gentle push back.

"Yeah, you do. You know you want to." Trying to straighten his clothes, Clint brushed uselessly at his shirt. Shrugging out of his button-up, Bruce passed it over; the sleeves were too tight on Clint's arms and the buttons pulled across the chest, but at least it covered most of the wet spots. "You'll get yours later, I promise." He gave Bruce a wicked grin.

Carol breezed into the room, paying no attention to them, caught up in her excitement. She passed over the data screen. "Finally, some headway! Look at the values of the GABA in the beta test." She paused when she saw the half-eaten cupcake. "Billy's? Chocolate? Yum."

Clint opened the box and passed her the second one. "Here, have this one." Bruce, hiding his raging hard-on by sitting half-under the lab table, raised an eyebrow. "There's more for movie night, big guy. Peanut butter cup, German chocolate, and Nutella. But you have to be there to have one. 45 mins. Tops. Don't make me come find you." Bruce nodded, mind already absorbed in the results on the screen.

"I'll remind him," Carol offered, looking reverently at the confection in her hand. "Oh, and Clint? You have chocolate on your jeans."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"You should come to movie night," Clint had found the agent sitting in a chair, reading Asimov, when he swung by his room to clean up. "Bruce picked _Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon_. I know you like that one."

"I'm not officially back yet. Forced recoperation. You know about that." He gave Clint a look that reminded him of all the times Coulson had to practically sit on him to keep him from rushing back into action. "We still don't completely understand the power of that scepter and what it does to a human body."

Clint froze; one of his deepest fears was that, somehow, the scepter still held sway over him and would suddenly manifest itself at the worst time. "They're worried about that?" he asked carefully. Coulson let nothing show on his face.

"Just being thorough. There's no reason to take any chances." He stood up, tucking the book under his arm. "Better hurry. I hear Nat's claimed the Key Lime already."

_The shower was warm, and Clint tried to chase away the cold spot that had formed in his chest at the mention of that memory. The heat helped, but a little nugget of doubt remained, nestled somewhere near his heart_.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"And what did you pick for tonight's viewing pleasure, Bruce?" Tony tossed a pillow over to Thor, who had already eaten two chocolate cupcakes and was digging into the big bowl of caramel popcorn Jane had passed him. "Something artistic? If it has subtitles, I call foul. We had subtitles last week for Natasha's French abstract selection of random images that she called a movie."

"That, thank you, was a classic of French cinema," she protested, legs folded under her, watching for Clint to make his move on the key lime cupcake she had on her small side table. "You just have mundane tastes in film."

But Clint ignored her and shifted to get more comfortable, stretching his legs over Bruce's lap; they sat in one of the couch's corners, each facing a different direction, bodies crossing. It had been Bruce's idea of the best way to share the garlic salt popcorn.

"First come, big boy. First come," Natasha drawled, waving the cupcake his way. Clint wondered if she had some secret tap into Jarvis's live feed. He wouldn't put it past her; it's not like he didn't have his own emergency back door into the system. "You can have the cookies and crème one, though. Maybe Bruce will share his peanut butter cup since you gave away his coconut to Carol. She said to say thanks again, by the way." Ah, Carol had told Nat. That made sense. And it made Clint rest a little easier.

"Movie, people. Movie," Tony demanded, his impatience showing. "Let's get the show on the road." He'd wasted no time snagging a chai cupcake; Pepper, wiggling her bare toes, was already two bites into her banana one.

"Just hit play," Steve told him. He was a white chocolate raspberry fan, but kept his in reserve for later. The lights dimmed and the big screen lit up as the movie started. Jane murmured into Thor's ear from her place next to him, curled up with her head on his shoulder, her own nutella cupcake safe behind them. Thor slipped an arm around her waist to pull her closer, his quiet reply causing a blush to rise in her cheeks.

"Oh, Bruce, good choice," Pepper offered. "I've tried to talk Tony into watching this before."

"Aw, damn, now I'm sure it has subtitles." Tony's grin belied the harsh words. "Better have either sex or violence to make up for it then."

"Just shut up and watch, Tony," Pepper came back at him. "Yes, there's lots of fighting. Between women no less. And some sex scenes." She sighed.

Clint made sure his hand scooped into the bowl at the same time as Bruce's, tangling fingers in the salty snack. The feel of Bruce's body warmth was comforting, and in just a few minutes, Clint's head fell back onto the rest, the coil in the pit of his stomach loosening a little when Bruce's hand covered his as the movie captured their attention.

_Natasha never took her eyes off the screen, but she wasn't watching the ballet-like fight scenes. Instead, she kept her laser-like focus on Clint, noticing every response. Something wasn't right, was slightly off, and she was going to find out what._


	4. 4 Conscience Makes Cowards of Us All

Conscience Makes Cowards of Us All

Part 4 of "Page Six," Hulkeye series

Rated: M

Shakespeare had it right. Fair warning: suffering ahead.

Previous: What a Piece of Work is Man

_Anthony Gresham. 27. From Albany New York. A computer science major from M.I.T. _

Clint had long ago lost feeling in his fingers, the cold wind tearing away any heat his body could produce; still he didn't move, resting on the edge, feet hanging into space, hands on the metal bar, concrete chill seeping into his body. He stared unseeing out over the city, lost in the sinking certainty of his own damnable state. There was no hope really, had never been much, but he had let himself start to believe, to laugh with the others, and to curl up In Bruce's arms, driving away the memories.

"You shouldn't have looked," he said, sitting down on the ledge beside Clint. Today, he was in his S.H.E.I.L.D. uniform, as Natasha called it, the dark, perfectly tailored suit, white shirt, and tie. Even his sunglasses were back in place, guarding against the glare of the autumn sun. "You were never meant to see that file."

_Hector Ricardo. 22. Ex-marine, served in Afghanistan with distinction. In a long term coma._

He had names now, faces in place of the shadows that had been haunting him. All 47 of them, both dead and wounded. Where they were from and went to school, the families who mourned them. He had committed it to memory: the words, the pictures, the list of human beings reduced to statistics. Clint had opened the document expecting a mission update; what he'd found was a bit of hell in a digital package.

"I'd tell you not to blame yourself, but I know you will." Coulson let his leg swing easily over the edge. "You're thinking you should have done something, stopped it all somehow. Never mind the Tesseract is an advanced technology beyond anything we'd seen. You, Clint Barton, should have been able to overcome it by sheer will alone."

"Selvig did. Built in a failsafe while he was working." And that thought burrowed into the open wound, his failure when someone else had succeeded, weakness exposed.

_Robert Queen. 51. Airplane mechanic. Rabid Yankees fan. Body never recovered._

"You didn't kill Fury."

"I killed the others." The cold would take him if he just sat here and waited, Clint realized; he could just let it creep into every part of his body, leaving nothing behind, no feelings, no pain.

"How many lives have you saved? _Did _you save in New York? Do they not count?"

_Margaret Jenkins. 38. Worked in the cafeteria, made the best manicotti. Never married. Lost the lower part of her right leg._

Forming words was difficult, like fighting his way through deep snow that clung to his legs and weighed him down. Easier to just stop and let the loop play.

"People care about you, Clint." Coulson pulled himself up and meticulously brushed off his suit. "I know you worry that you're not completely your own, that even now he has some hold on you. But you are part of this team and they need you."

He left Clint on the roof, and, in the silence, the roll of names continued.

_Ekaterina Zharbin. 33. Sharp shooter and Olympic bronze medalist. _

_Fahid Ahroni. 52. Mission Specialist. Father of 4. Played the guitar._

A whoomp of air sounded, like the ventilation coming on, sucking air into the system; only seconds later, the bone-rattling explosion shook him. From his perch, he could see the wave crash outwards – windows shattering as dense grey smoke roiled out of the floors below him – and he felt the shock of the blast as it passed, vibrating through the metal beneath his fingers.

The glass disintegrated as a body crashed through it, tiny slivers showering into the hallway; heads turned away, protecting vulnerable eyes and bare skin. Test tubes were shaken off the tables, and sensitive equipment went into a frenzy of alarms, their blaring sounds adding to the cacophony. White coated lab techs cowered behind a row of metal file cabinets to shield them from the flying debris.

"Jarvis, evacuate floors 27 through 30!" Tony practically screamed to be heard. "Activate the Mark 7. Now!"

Steve heard the ominous pops as beakers overheated; he grabbed Tony's arm just before they blew, jerking him out of the way. Tony gasped as his shoulder dislocated, and he cradled his arm to his side. Somewhere, the evacuation message was repeating over and over, warning people to leave the area.

"Sorry. Hold still, this is going to hurt." With an efficient yank, Steve reset Tony's shoulder, and the man's face went white with pain.

"Damn," Tony muttered. "Didn't think you liked it rough, Rogers." He grinned. "What's the ETA on the suit?" He asked the A.I. The smell of the propulsion fuel reached them first, then a blur of red and gold, and the suit built itself around his body in a few heartbeats. "Get Thor. He's at the stables with Jane. And find Barton!" he ordered the computer.

"There could still be people still trapped in the fire," Steve said. They could smell the smoke, hear the calls for aid, and feel the tremors in the floor as smaller explosions followed. With a roar, the Hulk blew through a doorway; his green skin marred by angry red patches and black slashes of ash. Stumbling behind him were two scientists, coughing from the smoke.

"Can you see if there's anyone else in there?" Steve asked. The Hulk nodded and headed back into the chaos.

"We're trying to help you," Steve spoke calmly as he approached, but the Hulk was beyond hearing him. There was wildness in his movements, a pulsating fear mixed with rage that washed off of him; his skin smoked and tears streamed from his eyes as he screamed his pain. He'd been trying to get to Carol, trapped beneath a fallen cabinet, when one of the storage rooms ignited; he had stepped between the woman and the brunt of an almost lethal mixture of chemicals. Far gone in the agony, he lashed out, catching Steve with his massive arm; the sideswipe threw Rogers backwards over the edge of the balcony, sending him plummeting towards the ground. Tony, just coming around the side of the building, rocketed after him, diving at top speed towards the falling man.

Clint palmed the plastic atomizer and nodded. Thor made his move, closing on the Hulk, but the Big Guy backhanded the Asgardian without effort, tossing him back into the building. Clint used the distraction to duck under the massive arm, driving the medicine dispenser into the fleshy part of the Hulk's thigh, pressing to release the neuro-inhibitor. With a jerk, the Hulk turned and shook the archer off; Clint rolled to lessen the impact, tumbling to a stop against a glass panel. His head spun for a moment, and he stayed still, disoriented, looking up at the sky.

"Cupid?" The Hulk dropped to his knees beside Clint, sagging downward as the drug began to have its effect. "Hurt? It hurts."

Clint crawled up to sit on his knees and looked into the Hulk's brown eyes. "I know it hurts, Big Guy." He watched as three medics came rushing out. "Let them help you, okay?"

"Cupid come too?" He was only half awake now, slipping into unconsciousness, so it was easy for Clint to hide the numbness that was spreading through his hand.

"I'll be there," Clint promised, but he stayed where he was until the Hulk was bundled off to the infirmary. A pressure like a tight band was sweeping up his arm, constricting his chest; as his heart pounded hard against his chest, he struggled to drag in enough air.

"Clint?" Natasha knelt next to him. "Are you okay?"

His body started trembling, and it took all of his will to open his clenched palm; two slivers of the plastic dispenser were embedded in his skin, and blood welled from cuts. The rest of the pieces fell to the ground, drops of the drug rolling down his unresponsive fingers as his ears rang and the world went black.

…_. What did it show you? My next target ….._

"…you hear me? Breathe, damn it. Breathe! If you die, I'm going to kill you myself, and you know I can …."

… _mentally unbalanced or crazy like a fox, the bodies pile up. Wherever the wind blows him …_

_**Anthony Gresham.**_

"… hang on, Clint. We're trying to get this leveled out. Just hold on …"

… _thought I was trying to seduce you …_

"… formulated for the Hulk's metabolism and mist dispersal, not in liquid form. There's no way to tell what it will do …"

… _You, Clint Barton, should have been able to overcome it by sheer will alone …_

_**Ekaterina Zharbin. Hector Ricardo.**_

…_it would be my genuine pleasure …._

"Clint?" Bruce's voice was low and gentle.

…_worse case scenarios; it's my job to figure out how to destroy things …_

"… was fucking rash, Steve. You should have waited until we were in place. If I hadn't been there to catch your ass …."

… _pretend all you want that you were handling it, but you weren't. Trust me, I know a thing or two about fucked-up psyches …_

"… me, Clint, it's me. Calm down. You're safe. You're going to be …"

_**Margaret Jenkins. Fahid Ahroni. **_

The humming was soft as the big arms held him, rocking gently back and forth.

… _arrow in Loki's eye socket, I might feel better …_

"… rigged to blow. Had to have been an inside job. Perfect locations to cause the most …."

Clint's eyes adjusted to the darkness as he pushed himself up, peeling back the sweaty sheets. He felt … he felt … he couldn't exactly name the odd emptiness; fragments floated in his brain, untethered and confusing. At least he was in his own bed and not strapped down in the infirmary.

'You're awake," Bruce stirred in his chair on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"You seem to ask me that a lot." Emotions skittered around the edges, pushed back by the lethargy that gripped him. "I think we've fallen into a rut. I get hurt. You get to ask if I'm okay."

"Well, technically, the other guy got hurt first," Bruce took Clint's pulse, holding his arm lightly. "Heart rate's back to normal, at any rate."

Clint scrunched his face, trying to grab a memory. "Did the big guy … sing?" It seemed too incredible to believe.

"You got a little aggressive, and he was a better option than restraints." Bruce kept hold of Clint's hand. "Turns out he knows a number of songs. Tony's got it on video."

"How long have I been out of commission?" Bruce's fingers felt good, warm and strong, so Clint wound his own around them. "And Carol? Is she okay? Steve?"

"About 12 hours. Carol's in a coma. She was exposed to a lot of chemicals in the explosion; Tony's bringing in specialists from all over the world." He took off his glasses and dropped them on the night stand. "Other than scaring Tony half to death, Steve is fine. Oh, he's behind the jetpack idea now. Thinks he, you, and Tasha should all have one. At least, that's what he's saying to get Tony's goat."

"And you? The Big Guy was hurt." Clint remembered the pain in the brown eyes and screams. "Have you slept at all?"

"Natasha made me sleep after you were out of the woods. She sat with you just in case." He stroked the sheet over Clint's leg, a calming touch. "Said to tell you she'll settle up later. Whatever that means." Clint knew exactly what it meant; he'd talked in his delirious state, maybe just a word or two, but Nat wouldn't let it rest now. She'd have to know if all, if she didn't already.

"I was pretty out of it. I said some things." He made the sentences a statement of fact, not questions. Bruce wasn't the best poker player, and Clint could read the truth in the other man's face. "What did I say?"

"You weren't exactly making sense," Bruce replied. "But Nat recognized some of the names." Clint flinched at the frustration in Bruce's eyes directed at him. "Were you planning on telling us about the file?"

Lying was his business, and he was damn good at it; just look directly at his lover and say he simply didn't have the time to tell anyone before all hell broke loose in the tower. Say he had every intention of sharing. That would make Bruce happy, keep everything even and calm in their relationship.

"No. I had no intention of telling anyone." The words surprised him even as they came out of his mouth. Brusquely, he pushed away from Bruce, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and standing. A quick wave of light-headedness passed; he felt a little off-balance, but more stable than expected.

"Nat was right." Bruce seemed tired all of the sudden. "Were you going to leave?"

"Not right away. I was going to settle some things, make some contingency plans, see you one more time." He walked out into the other room and took a bottle of water from the refrigerator, cracking the cap open and drinking a third in one swallow. The drug had left his mouth dry and an ache in the pit of stomach. Or was that the file? He wasn't sure which one. "I can't stay here, Bruce. Not when I can't be trusted. Last thing we need is a time bomb in the middle of the team."

Bruce stood in the doorway. "You think you're a time bomb? Excuse me, but who nearly killed Steve today?" He crossed his arms over his chest, a hint of ire creeping into his voice.

"And when I start killing people again? I'm the perfect sleeper cell of one." He thumped the bottle down on the table. "It could still be in me, just waiting for the right moment. Selvig said the Tesseract was sentient. That it – she - showed him the wonders of the universe. Well, it showed me that I'm damn good at finding and exploiting weaknesses when conscience doesn't matter. I won't hurt anyone else I care about."

Bruce walked over to where he stood. "I've got a goddamned monster riding shotgun every single day. But we keep it in check. It's what we do."

Clint whirled around, his anger evident in the harshness of his voice. "No. That's not what I mean. I have plans, Bruce, plans on how to take out every single one of you. How to bring down Fury or Steve or Tony. Even Natasha and, god help me, you." Bruce laid a hand on Clint's shoulder, but he brushed it off. He didn't want comfort; the numbness was giving way to raw aching pain, a deep well of it that flooded him, a wave for each name.

"You can't hurt me," Bruce began, but Clint cut him off.

"Don't kid yourself. I most certainly can. Maybe not physically, but there are other ways to incapacitate someone." Clint stalked forward, pushing Bruce back until he bumped into the wall. "Words can be just as devastating you know." He caught Bruce's wrists with his hands and pushed them back, pinning him to wall as he leaned, not in a romantic sense of wanting, but invading personal space. "One fucked up psyche can create a hell of a lot of destruction, right?" Mouths close now, Clint could see the emotion in Bruce's eyes, the concern warring with the beginnings of rage; every caution flag was there, but the pain swamped him, the cold in him shifting to blinding hot in an instant.

"It's the drug, Clint, still in your system. This is not you talking ..." Clint stopped him with a brutal kiss that ground their lips together, teeth clacking, his tongue laying siege to Bruce's mouth. He roughly claimed him, breaking contact only to breathe, and then kissing Bruce again. Bodies came together, and Clint pressed until Bruce couldn't move, hands constrained and mouth captured.

"You'll even let me do it, let me hurt you because you'll want to help me, want to make it better," Clint muttered, moving his mouth to Bruce's jawline, sucking in the skin as his kissed, leaving little marks of his passage. Bruce groaned when the tip of Clint's tongue traced his ear. "Admit it, that's part of the attraction."

"Damn it, Clint, you don't have to do this." Bruce pushed back with his chest and hips but Clint held firm and bit down hard on the sensitive line of muscle in Bruce's shoulder, sure to leave a bruise.

"At least the Big Guy pulls his punches sometimes. Me? I killed without thought. People I knew."

In a flash, Bruce whirled him around, changing their positions, pinning Clint's body face first, tight against the wall, head turned sideways, arms above his head. The hands on Clint's wrists trembled with rage. Bruce's hips held Clint's firm, and he could feel Bruce's heavy cock, growing harder as he moved. Some part of him wondered what he was doing, pushing this so far past the safety zone, but he wanted it, wanted to see just what would happen.

"Is this what you need? Punishment? Think you deserve it?" Bruce's voice lowered as he spoke. "You want it rough and hard?"

_Pain leads to pleasure …._

"Yes," he breathed. "No. I don't know. I just …" All thought fled from his brain when Bruce ground against him and sank his teeth into Clint's shoulder, a mirror of Clint's earlier marking. "Fuck. Yes." He sobbed when Bruce stepped away, feeling the absence of the weight and missing the restraint.

"Clint." His voice was softer now. "Look at me." With effort, Clint turned himself around and rested his back against the wall. Bruce simply stood and waited until Clint looked up. "Whatever you need. Tell me. I can take it. You don't need to push me. I'm already committed to this."

"I need you." And Clint crossed the distance in a step, catching Bruce to him in a rush, his kiss just short of frenzied. He tore at Bruce's shirt, popping buttons in his haste to get to it off, and then kicked off his own sweats and briefs. When there was nothing but skin left between them, he wrapped himself around the other man, caressing every inch as if his life depended on his knowledge of Bruce's body.

Clint maneuvered Bruce through the door into the bedroom and pushed him back on the bed, but he didn't follow him. Instead, he ducked into the closet and came back with a small bag and pulled out lengths of cloth before he nudged Bruce over onto his stomach. Each length was an endless circle; he slipped one over Bruce's hand, wrapping it twice around the wrist and then wrapped the remaining length around the second wrist, binding them together. He snapped the material; it grew taunt, but remained silky smooth on Bruce's skin. Taking the last bit, he looped the fabric around a spindle of the headboard and tied it off. He let his hands glide over Bruce's back, and then began kissing, lips tracking the road map his fingers set, moving over skin, along the muscles, down the knobs of Bruce's spine. Shaking with desire, he dragged open the end table drawer; when he pushed Bruce up on his knees, ass to the ceiling, he pressed one gel-covered finger slowly inside while he stroked Bruce's hard cock from root to sensitive head, intent on driving Bruce insane. He kept it up until Bruce was groaning into the bed, leaking and straining back as Clint added a more fingers, stretching and readying him.

Then, he entered him, pressing his slickened cock into the tight heat, moaning Bruce's name; growling, Bruce pushed backwards, slamming them together too fast. "I can take it," he panted. Clint hesitated for a moment then his emotions took over – the anger, the fear, the need – as he began to thrust harder, each push sending Bruce closer to the head of the bed; Bruce flattened his hands against the wall and fucked back with equal force, making Clint hold on to keep from falling backwards each time they came together. There was nothing but the sound of their bodies, the grunts and groans that could be words or just pure lust; Clint's mind let everything else drain away except the tight feel of Bruce clenching around him, the slick slide of Bruce's cock as he curled his fingers around it, and the sob that was Bruce calling his name.

His climax hit him and he jerked forward, closing his hand tighter around Bruce and wringing him to completion at the same time, the two of them coming together. When he was finally done, he rolled off to the side and flopped onto the bed, chest heaving, his energy almost gone.

"This is when I'd do it," Clint said. "A quick injection when you're at your most vulnerable." He closed his eyes tight, banishing the image out of his head. "Tell me that doesn't worry you."

Bruce pulled his hands free in one easy motion. "Tony showed me this weeks ago. You just have to know the trick to loosen it. Pretty impractical, unless you want to easily undress someone." He backed off the bed and collected a towel from the bathroom to clean himself up.

"To answer your question, no, it doesn't worry me." He sat down beside Clint. "In Peru, when you were following me …"

"Watching." Clint corrected him as he took the towel when Bruce offered it.

"When you were watching me, did you have a plan to take the other guy down if you had to?"

"Three. I had three scenarios." He started to toss it on the floor, but passed it back over for Bruce to hang up when he caught the look.

"And in New Mexico? What that your plan to lure Thor in and take him down?" Bruce came back, settled a pillow against the headboard and sat down.

"Hill overruled me." And Clint gave him a ghost of a smile as he moved his head to rest on Bruce's thigh.

"And Budapest?"

Clint was startled by the question. "How do you … God, Tony has unfettered access to all the files, doesn't he?" Bruce had the grace to look embarrassed. "I had six exit strategies. Damn S.H.E.I.L.D. handler wanted to prove himself, so he wouldn't listen." Clint pushed himself up until he could lean back onto Bruce's chest. "And don't think I don't know what you're doing."

"Is it working?" Bruce asked, wrapping his arms around Clint's chest.

"Yeah, damn you. Sex and logic. Even I can't argue with that." He sighed and let Bruce's heat warm him to his bones. "But I'll reserve the right to be a dick about it anyway."

Bruce shrugged. "Big green rage monster, remember. He doesn't argue, just smashes." He reached for the sheet and tugged it up, partially covering them. "Besides, the heart wants what the heart wants."

"Bruce, I …" Clint started to protest, but Bruce tilted his chin up and kissed him.

"Shut up, Clint."

And Clint shut up for a while.


	5. The Play's the Thing

**The Play's the Thing**

Put one in the win column for really good sex … or, maybe, a four letter word that starts with "l." Just don't tell Bruce or Clint.

Part 5 of "Page Six" Hulkeye series

Previous: Conscience Makes Cowards of Us All

Rated: M

For Bruce, daily life was like watching multiple movies at once. One part of his brain was, at any given time, calculating numbers and solving problems, streams of chemical symbols and possibilities cascading one after the other until he could form a coherent answer to the current problem. Sometimes, he thought, it was like that movie Clint made them all watch, the one where the world was a computer program, humans were just batteries to the machines, and the dark screen was filled with green number and letters dropping down in a steady rain.

Then there was the other guy, behind the curtain of numbers, barely contained by the thinnest of barriers; shared emotions that rampaged on a whim. He always felt him struggle for release when he got frustrated, but, lately, at other times as well: when Tony chose _Star Wars_ for movie night (a childish glee), when they'd ordered in Italian food (a serious craving for garlic bread), and when Bruce curled up with Clint, bodies close together (mine, mine, mine).

And now there was the Clint part of his brain, always aware when he was near, watching him move, committing every moment to memory, just in case. No logic about it, he just enjoyed the way his heart eased when Clint settled in that ugly chair to read, the way his brain let go of worry when Clint slipped into bed after being away on a mission, and the way his body stayed in a state of semi-arousal when Clint was in the room. Most of the time, he could balance them all, along with everything else that demanded his attention. But there were those times when desire overrode all else and he could think only of ways to get Clint alone, or against a wall, or just damn closer than where he stood now, a few yards away, eyeing the moving target, calculating the difficult physics of arcs and trajectories needed to hit a tiny, darting silver ball.

"_We need to talk." Tony stormed into the room, tapping the screen on the wall to take it out of sleep mode. With a few flicks of his wrist, he pulled up a series of files. "Jarvis, complete blackout. Locate Bruce and Clint in the building."_

"_What's up?" Steve pushed back his bowl with a little oatmeal left in the bottom. Thor finished off the last donut; Natasha kept drinking her coffee, seemingly unperturbed by Tony's scraggly condition. He was still in the same clothes he'd worn for the last two days, creases marring his face where he had fallen asleep on his work desk. He was running on nothing but caffeine and adrenaline. _

"_Jarvis?" Tony poured a quick cup from the hot pot of dark roast and drank it as if it was water. _

"_All data streams are secure, sir. Dr. Banner and Agent Barton are currently on the archery practice range. Shall I contact them?"_

"_No. Let me know if either of them leaves that area."_

"You having fun yet, doc?" Clint asked. Bruce was always amazed by the man's awareness of what was happening around him, even when he was concentrating so intently; the scrunch of his forehead had left lines in his skin, slight imperfections that only made him more handsome. These were moments when Bruce could simply watch and indulge himself by following every curve of Clint's body. He watched the play of bicep and tricep, one flexing, the other receding as Clint drew the string back, the grey tank clinging to his chiseled chest. God, Bruce loved those arms, the sinewy veins and ropey muscles born of so much practice and hard use. He knew the feel of them under his palms, the weight of them around his waist. The archer's glove was level with Clint's face, fingers bent and taunt as he focused and aimed; the fingers were battered from the abuse of daily work, anything but elegant, and Bruce knew every crook of them intimately, the way they tasted, the scratch of the callouses on bare skin, their strength as they held him, and the tension as they slipped inside him.

"What are you working on over there?" Clint let the arrow fly, hitting the target squarely in the center before calling up another, even smaller. "You've got that look on your face, so something is rolling through your brain."

When Clint reached for another arrow, he drew in his core, abs and lower back, clenching his buttocks to create a strong, straight line of his body as he notched, drew, and let it fly. S.H.E.I.L.D. issued black pants outlined his thighs as he balanced himself for another shot, and Bruce's fingers curled just thinking about touching Clint's tight ass, holding onto it, remembering how it felt when Clint thrust deep inside him.

_Fingers skimming, Tony brought up a stream of data. "I've back tracked the access to the areas in question, as well as the origin of the emails." Files slid around until two specific images filled the screen. "Someone's been in the system through one of my private backdoors, and I've finally found who." He waited for a reaction._

"_Are you serious?" Steve stared at the images as understanding dawned. "There's no way that's right."_

"_It makes no sense," Thor agreed. "I thought this A.I.M. was the villain here."_

"_Maybe we should ask Natasha that question, seeing as she's been bypassing the system for the last few weeks. What have you dug up, Nat?" All of the men turned to look at her. _

"I'm at an impasse. We've tried everything I can think of to re-engineer the drug, but we've hit a wall." He stepped up behind Clint, unhooked the quiver to set aside, and then rested a hand lightly on his hip and the other on his bicep, letting his fingers trace the valleys of the muscles. The cascading numbers receded with each stroke of Bruce's hand, with the strain and release as Clint shot again, with the intensity of Clint's concentration. Smelling Clint's scent, he could feel the other guy being lulled by the caress, slipping into silence. The world narrowed down to just the two of them.

"When you can't get there one way, you find another." Clint let his body bump into Bruce. "Come at it from another direction."

_Natasha simply sat and sipped her coffee._

"_Shall we see what you've been watching?" Tony threw a file across to the big screen, and it filled with the image of Clint, leaning against the railing of a balcony, obviously in his Halloween costume, talking. He stayed there for a few minutes then Bruce entered the shot and the video stopped. Another clip followed, Clint in the breakfast room, carrying on an argument as he ate a bowl of Lucky Charms. The last was an exterior camera, a long-range shot, Clint sitting on the eave of the roof, grief on his face, nodding and barely speaking. In all the images, Clint was alone._

"_So, Nat, who is Clint talking to?" Tony pushed. "Why haven't the sensors picked up any external signals?"_

"_You can't honestly think he has anything to do with the explosions?" Steve argued. "That's crazy Tony!"_

"_No, not Clint. I do not see why he would do such a thing," Thor agreed. _

"_Well, all the trails lead back to him. The files, the access codes – he's been using the backdoor into the system."_

"Here," Clint snagged another arrow. "Let me show you. Put your hands on mine." Bruce let his hand move down to wrap over Clint's hand that held the bow. Pressing his chest against Clint's back, he let his other arm bend and lay on Clint, fingers resting lightly near the splayed fingers that held the bow string. Cheeks brushed as Bruce's head lined up and sighted down Clint's arm. The target darted in and out of view, and Bruce started to turn to follow it, but Clint held steady. "Wait for it to come to you. Choose a point and focus; give it a little lead time. Watch it out of the corner of your eye, but keep your crosshairs tight." Bruce could feel as their heart beats slowed, breathing deepened, pulling both into a peaceful state of readiness. "Just wait. It'll come." Silver hovered on the edges; he sensed the minutest of changes in the tension in Clint's arms, the barest flexing of fingers, a slight outrush of air, and then Clint let go. The fletching brushed against their fingers as the arrow flew past; the target slammed into the wall, pinned in the center.

Turning his head, he brushed Clint's ear with his lips, feather-light touches with his hands on the bare skin of Clint's arms. Kissing the spot behind Clint's ear, he followed down the taunt line of his neck to the crook of his shoulder, gentle nips to tickle and tease. "Should I wait for you to come, keep it tight?" He chuckled into Clint's skin. "Or maybe try a different direction?" Bruce ran his hands down Clint's sides, catching on the waistband of his pants.

"_You're a piece of work, Tony," Steve stood, his anger rising. "First conclusion you jump to is blaming it on Clint?"_

"_I didn't say Clint knew what he was doing, but there is the possibility he could be compromised," Tony argued back. "We don't know the extent of damage…"_

"_Coulson. He's talking to Phil." Natasha's words caused the other men to fall silent. "He thinks Coulson is alive and visiting him." She looked at Tony. "That's your cue to accuse him of being insane. If they can't convince us he's compromised, they'll make us think he's crazy."_

_Steve braced a hand on the table. "Someone's gaslighting Clint and wants us to doubt him. Lay a trail that leads back to him. Make him see ghosts."_

"_If Clint had a hand in the destruction, we would never know," Thor agreed. "He would have succeeded much more efficiently and with no trail to track."_

"You had a plan." Clint's laughed when he pinned Bruce up against the wall, his thumb circling Bruce's silky head and fingers curled around the shaft, little jolts of pleasure with each trip around, spreading the milky liquid that leaked out. This is what Bruce had wanted, the compulsion that brought his mind to a halt; he was driven to seek out Clint's touch.

"No plan." Bruce groaned. "Just need. Need to quit thinking. Need you."

"Keep saying stuff like that, and I'm going to start thinking you might care, doc." Clint dropped down onto his knees and replaced his hand with his tongue, curling around Bruce, wetting his entire length. Threading his hands through Clint's hair, Bruce watched as Clint parted his lips and enveloped first the head and then the rest of his cock; it was the most erotic thing, to see himself disappear Into Clint's mouth, to feel the pull as he sucked in and slid back out.

"God, it feels so good, Clint." And it did, the rising urgency for faster, harder. The bump as he hit the back of Clint's throat. The little wet sounds and the throaty groans from both of them.

"_Question is, how? How did someone get in the system to set him up? And how the hell is he seeing ghosts?" Tony demanded. _

"_I imagine Thor knows part of the answer," Natasha said. "Asgardian 'magic,' right?"_

"_My brother could do such a thing, but he is unable to practice any of his tricks." Thor shook his head, frustration evident in his eyes. "There are others, however, who could easily make such an illusion. Hela or Amora. But they have no quarrel with Clint."_

"_Loki has friend, sympathizers. Fandaral says there are those who believe you spend too much time here on Earth." Natasha settled back in her chair. "Loki could be pulling the strings. Clint was right. This is personal. It just might not be about Bruce at all."_

Clint pulled off and looked up at Bruce, a wicked glint in his eyes. "Go on and do it. I can handle it."

The words were too much for him; Bruce held Clint's head steady and moved his hips, thrusting into Clint's mouth. The friction pushed him quickly to the edge, and he felt the tightening in his balls, the tension that signaled his climax; he tried to nudge Clint back, but he only sucked harder, and then Bruce was coming, groaning as he exploded. Clint swallowed him down, then licked him clean, so incredibly hot that Bruce bit down on his lip to hold in his cries.

"Damn, Clint. Damn." Bruce dragged Clint up by the neck, crushing their lips together, tongue tasting himself as he delved in. His hand dipped past Clint's waistband, popped it open, and stroked his engorged cock.

"Not going to be long, so ready_,"_ Clint murmured against Bruce's fingers that danced across his lips. Bruce caught a pearly drop at the corner, brought his thumb to his mouth and sucked, rewarded when Clint's eyes rolled back and his cock quivered. "Fucking hell, Bruce," tore from his mouth and then he was coming, shooting all over Bruce's hand, shudders rippling through his body. They used the wall to brace themselves until they caught their breath.

"_We're looking at this all wrong." Steve stopped pacing. "We keep looking for one culprit. Why? Why can't it be two? One has the skills to hack into the system, build sophisticated bombs; the other can play with perception and create ghosts."_

"_Damn." Tony blurted out. "Damn. Take them both out. One-third of the team in one fell swoop. Make them angry, isolated, play on their fears. Make us doubt them. Pretty decent plan. Except for the fact that Bruce isn't as angry as he used to be, and Clint's talking, at least to Bruce. Chalk a win for the benefits of frequent sex." He paused, that certain glint back in his eye. "Maybe we should all be having as much sex as possible. Might help."_

"What I don't understand is the overall purpose of the drug. Doom's version made you feel good, took away the anger that fuels the Big Guy, but only for a very short time, right?" Clint finished putting himself back together enough to head for the showers. "Monica's version lasted longer, kept the change from happening, but had crappy side effects." He picked up his bow and quiver. "That's what I don't get. You," he gave Bruce a smug smile, "are pretty damn formidable on your own. Why leave the brilliant scientist? Sure, stop the Hulk in action, but long-term, you can do a lot of damage for the home team. Now, if it were me, I'd be working on the opposite, a way to force you to change and to keep you there, make the Big Guy crazy angry all the time."

Bruce stopped and looked at Clint. "But to do that you'd have to take out any element that would calm him down."

Clint nodded in agreement. "So, I'd jump to the top of the list. Use my own self-doubts, a kind of gaslight campaign to make me believe I'm useless." He suddenly realized what he'd just said. "Oh fuck. It's a red herring, Bruce. Useful in a handful of situations, but that's not the long-term plan. Pictures, that damned file … they've already started."

"Create rage instead of calm. That's it. They don't need to worry about transmission or long-term effects. I'm already primed to blow." He stopped long enough to yank Clint into a bruising kiss, then headed for the door. "I've got to get to the lab. I think I know exactly how they plan to do it."

He was already writing the chemical formulas in his head as he left, the other guy rumbling his displeasure at the thought of someone targeting them. And he knew that Clint watched him go, a comforting thought that grounded all the other parts, focusing them tight on the target in his crosshairs.


	6. Chapter 6: Peaceful, easy feeling

"No. Absolutely not."

Clint kept moving, tucking in a black storage container under the outcropping of rock, ignoring Bruce completely.

"Clint. I'll not have you put yourself in danger. That's the whole point of being here. I can't hurt anyone in the middle of the desert."

Stowing the sleeping bag and his pack, Clint simply stretched and opened the small cooler to take out a bottle of water.

"For god's sake, Clint, you're not invulnerable." Bruce practically begged.

"There's no need to get nasty," Clint finally spoke. "The quinnjet is gone, so it's a moot point. I'm here and I'm staying. The sooner we do this, the sooner I can get back to watch the new episode of _Game of Thrones_." He opened the small black case filled with a series of syringes of different drug dosages.

"Clint. The whole point of this is to see how the other guy reacts to the new formula. Odds are he'll be angry as hell, "Bruce argued concern in his eyes. "He won't know who you are. And he will hurt you."

"Bruce, if the Big Guy is going to be out of control, who do you think has the best chance of calming him down? Thor's just going to piss him off. Steve will try to talk him to death. And Tony? He'll have a shot at it, but you know sometimes the Hulk sees the suit as a threat. That leaves me and Natasha, and he doesn't trust Red." He calmly sat down and waited as Bruce worked through the options, arriving at the conclusion that Clint was right.

"You have permission to do this, right?" Bruce accused, knowing his lover well.

"So, how does this work? Are you just going 0 to 60 straight from the beginning or is it a slow burn?"

Clint's non-answer was a big yes. Natasha had flown them here so she had to be in on it, but the odds were he'd neglected to tell anyone else.

"We start with the lowest dose. If I can still control it, we go up until I can't. It should last six to eight hours." He unbuttoned his shirt, folding it up after he took it off. Holding out his arm, he let Clint give him the injection. "Just don't get yourself hurt. I'll be pissed if you do."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Everything was irritating. The sun was too bright, reflecting in his eyes, burning little black spots into his vision. Sand grated across his exposed skin, feeling like little tiny gnats crawling all over him. Rocks cracked beneath his bare feet, shards pricking and needling. His stomach rumbled for food, and his lips cracked from lack of water. He let loose a roar, hands fisting, neck straining, tendons taunt. With a surge, he moved, intent on smashing something, anything to vent his anger.

"_Come on, Big Guy. I know you can catch me!" Laughing as he caught him then let him go._

The arrow buzzed by him, slamming into the rock near his head, a flash that pulled him to focus. His head jerked around, eyes squinting to see the figure perched on a rock formation. In one leap, he bounded that direction, intent on ending the disturbance, but there was no one there when he landed. Frustrated, he started away, only to have another arrow plough into the ground at his feet, with a laugh ringing in his ears. Bellowing, he trampled over to the sound, ready to destroy anything in his path.

"_Little sticks don't hurt Hulk." . . . "Then catch them, silly. Where are they going to be?"_

The game of cat and mouse agitated him; each time he got closer only to have the prey slip away. Fuzzy and infuriated, he wanted to rampage and not have to think. Turning on his heel, he tried to predict the next move, pushing away the burning around the edges of his brain. Focusing, the growl low and dangerous, he waited for the smallest of signs. Quick as lightning, he jumped and snatched, massive hand wrapped around a leg, dangling the body in mid-air.

"_Cupid lost!" he crowed, gleefully tossing the small man into the air where he flipped and landed on his feet._

He drew his arm, prepared to throw this little pain as far away as possible.

"_Clint. It's Clint. It's Clint." _

He bellowed, holding on, bringing the hanging man up to his face, and taking his scent.

_He cradled the sleeping man in his arms, humming as he rocked._

"Cupid?" His confusion made his head hurt; he just wanted it all to stop.

"It's okay, Big Guy. It's okay."

He let him go and stumbled back, a rumble of discontent shaking his body as he fled.

xxxxXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Clint sat, waiting as the pork loin roasted over the fire; truth was, he was pretty damn good at grilling, but he just didn't tell anyone because then they'd make him actually cook from time to time. Burying potatoes in the hot coals and turning meat over the heat … that was his and the Big Guy's kind of meal. They'd passed the six hour mark since the last dose, so he figured the Hulk's hunger had an edge over the anger by now. The smoke was drifting away, carrying the smell to lure a hungry green giant.

"I have to say, you've had some bad ideas, but this might just be the craziest yet." Coulson stood just a few feet away, suit perfect despite the fading desert heat. "You're that sure you can control the beast? You 're not letting you feelings for Bruce cloud your judgment, are you?"

Clint sat silent for a few moments, absently turning the spit. "What exactly is this about, Phil?" he asked. "These ghostly visitations."

Coulson didn't react, calm as ever. "Clint, I'm worried about you."

"Right. And you keep popping up to remind me how I'm compromised and untrustworthy. Cloudy judgment. Sorry, but I'm not buying it." Clint rose and stalked over. "See, here's the problem. The real Phil Coulson would never suggest any of those things. He'd bust my ass for not following orders, or filling out paperwork, but he never once doubted me. Hell, he'd be giving me that stare which told me to shut up and get on with my job." He stopped in front of the other man. "So, I'll ask again. Who, or what, the hell are you?"

He changed, black suit becoming black jeans and dark jacket; Natasha closed the distance and ran her hand over his shoulder and down his arm. "About time. I was beginning to think all those blows to the head had affected your brain." She touched his hand lightly with her own. "It's not that difficult really. I'm you. This is how you're dealing with it all. Just a little mental projection of your inner most thoughts."

"Oh, so I'm crazy now, is that it?" He shook his head as he pushed her away. "If you're a figment of my imagination, then go away. I don't want to burn dinner."

"Doesn't work that way. You called me up to say the things you don't want to say to yourself. Deep down, you know just how seriously fucked up you are. You want to believe you're not. That you can have some sort of happy little fantasy with Bruce and Tony and Steve and me. But you know how bad it really is."

"Funny thing? I really don't know how bad it is. In fact, I'm feeling pretty much in control right now."

Her hand rested on his wrist; he could feel the heat of her touch, the pressure of her fingers, as if she really was there. "Clint. You can't fool yourself. Look at you. In the middle of the desert, risking your life on the belief that a raging gamma monster won't hurt you? Why? Because he loves you? We both know you don't believe that."

That shot hit home because, truthfully, love was something for other people, normal people who lived everyday lives with families and kids and 9-to-5 jobs. For him, and Bruce, love was a danger they couldn't afford. He could fake it with the best of them – and had on many occasions for any number of reasons – but deep down, he didn't believe he was even capable of it. Or that he would ever deserve it.

"Come on," she continued, fingers drawing circles on the back of his hand. "We don't lie to each other. With everything that's happened, can you honestly say that you're okay? That you don't flinch inside when Bruce touches you?"

He pulled his hand away and moved back to the fire. "That's a low blow, even for me."

"You're compromised, Clint. You need to get some help."

"Problem is, if you are the Natasha that lives in my head, you'd be kicking my ass right now. Her solution would be to bash my head into that rock to recalibrate my brain. So, sorry. Not going to accept the Freudian explanation. And since you're not a ghost, I don't have to get the salt."

"Who are you talking to?" Bruce spoke from behind him, weaving slightly, clad only in his pants, bare-feet brushing across the ground. He lowered himself onto a rock, dirt falling as he ran a hand through his hair. He had that familiar tired look in his eyes.

Clint turned back briefly, and Natasha was gone. "Myself, it seems."

"That's dangerous, you know." He smiled. "Cooking me dinner? Smells good. Is that garlic bread? I'd love some."

"All your favorites," Clint said, crossing to stand behind Bruce, hands on his shoulders, rubbing out the kinks. "How are you feeling?"

"Tired. Drained. But better now." Leaning back against Clint's chest, Bruce let his eyes drift closed. "Sorry to make you wait out here. Must have been lonely if you're talking to yourself." He ran his hand up Clint's arm, cupping his neck and pulling him down for a slow kiss.

With a quick move, Clint clicked the handcuffs on Bruce's wrist, twisting his arm to catch the other and link them together.

"What the hell?" Bruce growled, yanking his arms, trying to free them. Clint pinned him down, resting his forearm on his back, pushing him almost double.

"Ready, Nat." Clint touched his earbud. "I've got him … or her."

"Clint, there's no need for this. I'm fine," the person who wasn't Bruce protested.

"You may be fine, but you are not Bruce." As if he was having a normal conversation, Clint talked as he waited. "You made too many mistakes. First, Coulson would never have called the Hulk a beast. He always uses formal titles and names. Even won't call Beast beast, insists on Dr. McCoy. Hell, he only calls me Clint when he's really annoyed or drunk. Second, this is the Big Guy's favorite meal, not Bruce's. Lots of people assume they're the same, but they're not. Third, you don't kiss like Bruce."

Natasha appeared, followed by six other agents. "Stark's tracking device worked liked a dream. Some sort of neural interference. We were able to disrupt it once we found the frequency."

"What are you talking about?" Bruce's face grew flushed and angry as he struggled.

"Mistake four. There's no way in hell Bruce couldn't break out of this hold." Clint pushed harder; the person under him was lighter than Bruce, felt smaller. Struggling, the form shifted to Coulson, then Natasha, finally changing into a woman with long blonde hair; her frame was petite and she wore an outfit that was clearly Asgardian.

"You are weak and pathetic," she spat out as the agents took over from Clint; one latched a metal bracelet on the woman's arm, digital read out spiking green as it settled against her skin. "What he sees in Midgard, I'll never understand. Loki was right. You need to be ruled. Want it." With a sadistic smile, she threw the last comment straight at Clint. "I know everything about you, Clint Barton. You and that monster you sleep with. Such interesting stories I have to tell."

Natasha stayed beside him as the agents hustled the woman off to the waiting quinnjet, saying nothing, just giving him the questioning stare.

"I'm fine. She overplayed her hand and once I knew what to look for, it was obvious."

She raised an eyebrow. "Bash you head into a rock?"

"Kick my ass? Hand me my head on a platter? Beat me senseless?" He grinned at her. "Ask me to 'get help'? Yeah, right."

"Don't worry, Clint. I'm going to do the interrogation. Whatever she has to say, I doubt it will surprise me." Clint watched her go; Tasha had always known his secrets, even when he didn't tell her.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX XXX

Temperatures change in the desert; boiling hot during the day, freezing cold at night. Clint huddled in the overhang, rocks shielding them against the small rain storm. The hastily made fire sputtered under the drops that blew in. The Hulk was tired, his stomach was full, feet towards the warmth, eyes drifting closed as the chemicals finally worked their way out of his system.

"Not mad?" The Hulk rumbled. Clint patted the nearest knee.

"There's nothing to be mad about. The point of the game is to catch me. You caught me." His teeth clattered a little; the flames guttered as a strong gust blew in.

"Cupid cold?" And just like that Clint found himself cradled in the Hulk's lap, his back against the green chest. Heat seeped into his body, and he relaxed as big hands stroked his bare arms.

"You going to rub my fur the wrong way?" Clint knew the Big Guy loved Looney Tunes cartoons.

"Not call you George." The Hulk's laugh was full and rolled from deep in his diaphragm; Clint could feel the muscles contract as he tilted his head back and relaxed. "No road runner in desert."

"Yeah, they don't look like that anyway. Much smaller in real life." Slinging a leg over the Hulk's knee, he got comfortable, ready to wait until the storm passed.

"Red was here." Of course, the Big Guy could tell. "Before."

"Yes, and some other agents. Making sure everything was okay. And it was." He wasn't lying about that. Everything was okay. Really okay. Better than it had been in a while.

"Something else." Big brown eyes glared at him; Clint forced himself not to tense up. He'd intentionally not told Bruce about the plan, worried it would affect the test. "You tell little guy?"

"Little guy?" Clint was confused. That was a new term.

"Other guy, little doc."

"Bruce?" Clint looked at him, incredulous; the Big Guy had never referred to Bruce before, not that Clint knew of. "Did I tell Bruce? No. But I will. As soon as he's back, okay?"

The Hulk gave a nod and settled back to stroking Clint's skin, massive fingers moving over his skin. It should have been calming, and it was at first, but the touch turned more to a caress and Clint began to stir, hardening a little as the Big Guy shifted his attention to Clint's shoulder, then the front of his chest.

"Um, Big Guy?" Clint was unsure of the signals he was getting. Actually, the whole thing was pretty surreal. Was it cheating on Bruce if he got aroused by the Hulk's touch?

".Hulk make Cupid feel good, so Cupid make little guy feel good." One hand slipped down to lightly, very lightly, touch Clint's cock, and Clint sucked in a breath. The caress was gentle, and it completely turned him on that fingers which could crush stone could be so delicate in their movements.

"God," he muttered. "Look, Big Guy, I don't think, physically, this would work, if understand me."

The Hulk chuckled, and his hand kept stroking Clint. "Like to watch. Little guy happy, Hulk get out more."

Clint pushed up and turned around, resting his elbows on the massive chest, almost standing so he could look the Hulk in the eyes. Mischief danced in their brown depths. "So that's your plan? I approve." Lifting up on his toes, he kissed him, a friendly pass of lips; the Hulk's arms went around him, picking him up and kissing him back. Clint could feel the muscles roil beneath the green skin, contracting as they changed. His feet went back down onto the floor as their lips slid over each other. The pressure changed, from the closed mouth kiss of an older child to the parted lips that Clint knew well, inviting his tongue with easy touches. Clint dropped to his knees to keep contact, and then sat down, straddling Bruce as he rested against the rocky face. The kiss turned passionate, Clint's hands circling Bruce's face, fingers catching on the messy strands of Bruce's hair, thumbs along his temples; he held Bruce steady as his tongue caressed and tangled in Bruce's mouth.

"Clint," he asked once Clint let his mouth go. "Were you kissing the other guy?" His eyes were filled with humor and the bulge against Clint's leg said Bruce was enjoying the situation.

"Indeed, I was." He busied himself, tugging his shirt up and over his head. "He wants me to keep you happy. So he can get out more to play." Standing up, he started removing his boots. "It's cold. Going to have to go with the old 'body heat' excuse or are you too tired to come quietly … or loudly? We are in the middle of nowhere." Unbuckling his pants, he stripped them off and picked up the sleeping bag, unrolling it and shaking it out.

"Does that body warmth line ever work?" Bruce watched with appreciative eyes as Clint knelt and ran the zipper down the length of the blue bag.

"Well, it only works if we're both naked. Skin to skin, doc. You should understand the biology of it." He held his hand out, and Bruce took the help to get up, swaying slightly, forcing Clint to hold his arms more securely. "Whoa, whoa, you're not okay. Let's get you into the sleeping bag."

"No, really, I'm fine," he protested, but Clint helped him off with his pants and eased him down. "Body heat, remember?"

Clint tucked him in and crawled next to him, zipping them up; he pulled Bruce to him, bodies curling together. His leg slipped between Bruce's, hooking ankle over ankle. Working his arm under Bruce, he rolled until Bruce was lying on his chest, messy brown hair brushing Clint's chin. The shaking started, rolling up Bruce's body until he was shivering all over.

"Hey, hey, I'll call Tasha, get the jet out here …" Clint started to reach for his comm unit.

"No, I expected this. Dosage was really high, now I'm bottoming out. Just need to ride through it." Bruce's voice shook, but his eyes were clear. "C-c-c-cold."

Clint burrowed down into the warmth of the soft inner material and held tight, hands drawing circles on Bruce's lower back. "I've got you. There's enough heat for both of us."

He held on through the tremors until Bruce finally sank into a fitful sleep. He kept holding him tight through the strange dreams that brought Bruce, gasping, partially awake, mumbling disjointed fears. And he whispered back, giving voice to the things he shouldn't say, lulling Bruce back to sleep with songs of getting out of the rain and not letting him down. When Bruce finally calmed, breathing even, Clint counted the heartbeats, felt the warmth return, and let himself drift away into a dream where the Hulk was laughing as Bruce tried to shoot Clint's bow.


	7. Thinking Makes it So

"Clint." Steve had been giving hints the whole ride that he wanted to talk, but Clint kept up a steady patter, trying to forestall the inevitable. "What Amora is saying, about what happened with Loki …."

"She's still playing the damn game, Steve. Telling stories to get us all worked up." God, the last thing he wanted was to have this conversation. Natasha he could handle; she'd never bring it up, just add a few new ways to kill Loki to her repertoire. Despite his smart mouth, Tony would avoid the subject like the plague, and that was fine with Clint. But Steve? He obviously saw it as his duty as team co-leader to have 'the talk'.

"I had a friend in the war. He was taken by H.Y.D.R.A. When I got him back, he was … what they did to break him …" Steve hesitated, staring out the window at the passing street. "He found men, other survivors, people who understood, who'd lived through the same or worse. And he went back and kicked H.Y.D.R.A.'s ass." A real smile lit his face. "He saved my life more than once, and he died a hero. Point is, Bruce is a good man. And you are part of this team. Nothing else matters."

Clint grinned at Steve; seemed the Captain understood more than Clint gave him credit for. "You should take your own advice, you know, and find yourself a good man. Guess that leaves Tony out, though. He thinks he's too screwed up for anyone to ever love." Only half-joking, Clint watched Steve and the telling emotions that ran across his face. The man seriously needed to work on his poker face.

"How did Bruce do it?"

Clint knew exactly what Steve wanted to know, and he even didn't mind being compared to Tony. "Well, food, of course, and books and movies and letting me have the last of the garlic popcorn … and he's never asked, no matter what."

XXXXX

"I didn't think this was your kind of event." Tony swirled his martini, arm resting on the bar. He wore his expensive suit like a second skin, at ease in the press of the people mingling in the room, thriving in the energy of their attention. Bruce, on the other hand, slouched his shoulders, keeping his eyes downcast, making little to no eye contact.

"It's a good cause." Bruce finished his appletini in one gulp. "Being here means more money raised to help the kids." He sat the glass down and signaled for another one.

"We'd have sold more tickets if pictures of that congressman in Manila hadn't surfaced. Sorry to say, but you and Clint are last week's flavors, eclipsed by a prostitute scandal." Tilting his drink back, he winked at a handful of young women who looked like they'd stepped off of a fashion runway. "But there are still enough people who paid double the going price to be here."

"You charged them double?" Bruce's mouth turned up in a smile despite his insecurities.

"The right reverend paid triple just for the chance to lecture you about the evils of homosexuality in person. Pepper took great pleasure in cashing his check."

"He didn't even bring it up when he spoke to me. I think he was afraid of upsetting me." And, damn, if he hadn't enjoyed that just a little bit. He picked up his new drink.

"Then there's Melinda McCarter. She's been aiming to get in Clint's pants, made a real nuisance of herself. She paid triple because, and I quote, 'I don't mind watching'."

Bruce coughed, almost choking on his drink. "You have some strange friends, Tony."

"Melinda's a trust fund baby with more money than she knows what to do …" The words stopped abruptly as Tony stared across the room; Bruce followed his eyes and saw Steve and Clint standing there, their late arrival causing waves as almost everyone noticed. Steve had insisted upon the two of them coming together, making a stand, he'd said, but that wasn't why Tony was mesmerized. Steve slim silver Dolce & Gabbana suit was tailored for his muscular frame, trim at the waist, fitted across his broad shoulders. Like an ad in GQ, Steve stood still, a hand in his pocket, blonde hair, not slicked back for once, but with strands hanging over his forehead. Tony practically drooled, and he seemed unable to form a coherent sentence.

Clint stood just behind Steve, and Bruce had to admit the man cleaned up well; watching him saunter towards them, Bruce's heart beat a little faster; blue-green eyes captured his, and his slow smile went right to Bruce's groin. He knew others were watching them, their every move on display, but he didn't care; Clint stepped up to him, hand slipping around his elbow, and gave him a light kiss on the cheek before he ordered a drink from the bartender.

"Well, damn, Rogers. That's actually an exceptionally fine suit." Tony looked the other man up and down.

"I helped him pick it out," Clint wedged himself between Bruce and Tony, bumping Tony out a step. "Went with Coulson's favorite store."

"Turns out you do have some taste, Barton," Tony replied, more comfortable sparring with Clint. "First Bruce, and now this? You might not be completely hopeless after all."

"Sold out for the luncheon?" Steve asked. "Everyone behaving themselves except you Tony?" Tony smirked and drained his glass.

"If you don't count Melinda McCarter who suggested Clint and I join her in a threesome, good behavior all around." Bruce laughed at the momentary look of panic on Clint's face.

"Fickle press. I could leak a video of you two if you want the spotlight again. Not too graphic, but sure to go viral," Tony wiggled his eyebrows at them.

"Silly, but I sort of like the quiet. More peaceful." Bruce rested his arm on the bar behind Clint.

"Well, if you want peace, you might need to know." Tony nodded towards the crowd. "The Reverend is heading from your 3 o'clock, and Melinda's closing in from the left."

"I hear there's a buffet in the other room," Clint offered. "I'm certainly hungry, aren't you, doc?" It was as good an excuse as any to beat a hasty retreat out of the crossfire.

Tony waited until they disappeared into the crowd, heading for the banquet room. "You have the talk with him?"

"The talk? Really? Is everything about sex with you?" Steve shook his head, but the edges of his mouth turned up. "Yes. Turns out love is good for both of them."

Raising an eyebrow, Tony looked at him skeptically. "Love? You are a hopeless romantic, Rogers. Probably still believe in the whole good wife, 1.2 kids, and a white picket fence on the Jersey Shore."

Reaching over, Steve laid his hand on Tony's arm, and the motion snagged all of Tony's attention. "Pretty much. Except you got a couple things wrong. At least 3 adopted kids, a brownstone in Brooklyn …." He looked Tony square in the eyes, "… and a good man."

As Steve picked up his drink and strolled away, Tony stood dumbfounded, rendered completely speechless.

"Are you ready to get out of here?" Clint asked when Bruce entered the washroom. He finished rinsing his hands as Bruce stepped up behind him.

"More than ready," he leaned in and kissed Clint's neck, just behind his ear, hands sliding around Clint's waist. Reflected in the mirror, he could see them together, dark hair mixing with his as Bruce's kissed the crook of Clint's neck, long fingers splayed against the starch white of his shirt at his waist.

"Anyone can walk in," he murmured as Bruce's mouth continued its journey on the column of his throat.

"Ummm, that's true." He lifted his head and gave Clint a lopsided smile. Closing his hand around Clint's wrist, he tugged him down the line of stalls to a large one, closing the door behind them. Tucked at the very end of the row, someone would have to come all way the down to see them. He pushed him up against the wall and planted his hands on either side of Clint's head. "Guess you'll just have to come quietly." He captured Clint's mouth with a passionate kiss as his hands worked Clint's belt free and unlatched his pants.

The door opened, someone came in, whistling lightly, and Bruce chose that moment to close his hand over Clint's cock, a light graze with his fingers; Clint's moan was muted by Bruce's tongue that swallowed the sound as it tasted Clint's mouth. His lips moved back to Clint's ear and he whispered, "later, I'm going to take you in my mouth and make you scream as you come."

"Oh, jesus, fuck," Clint bit his lip to keep the words as low as possible, nothing more than an exhale; Bruce gave a muted chuckle as he dragged his thumb down Clint's shaft, tracing against the vein. The sound of water running covered Clint's quiet words. "You are going to kill me."

"Payback's a bitch." Bruce pushed Clint's pants down, leaving his cock jutting forward and aching as Bruce circled it with his thumb and forefinger. "Next time, tell me the plan."

The water had just shut off when more voices came in, talking about golf handicaps and slices, the chatter continuing at the urinals. Bruce stepped over to the sink and squirted some liquid soap, rubbing both hands; fingers curled back around Clint's cock and slipped up and down, stopping to circle the velvety head. He swooped back down to suck Clint's lower lip into his mouth, raining small kisses that were like little sparks of electricity, making Clint's cock jump even as he held back his groans of pleasure.

Silence fell after the door closed behind the others, a momentary lull.

"Later, when I'm so far inside you that you're split in half with every thrust, I'll make you promise not to leave me out of the loop again." Bruce stepped back and unzipped his pants, his thick shaft freed; he stroked himself with a soapy hand and moaned. Catching Clint's waist, he turned him around, pressed Clint's chest to the wall, angling Clint's hips out.

"I can't promise that, and you know it." the words tumbled from Clint's lips. "But, damn, you can keep talking dirty and do anything you like." He pressed his hips back as he felt the head of Bruce's cock against his ass. "God, you can fuck me right here, I don't care."

"If I remember, sex in a public place is pretty high on your wish list." Bruce spread Clint's legs and slid his cock between his tight cheeks and his muscular thighs. "As you wish."

The words fell into Clint's brain, despite the wash of pleasure from Bruce's body, the physical reaction to the feel of the heavy cock, slick with soap, sliding in and out between his thighs, and in spite of the fingers that curled around his aching shaft, matching the rhythm and pulling him to the edge of orgasm. He knew those words, knew what they meant, knew the way his heart jumped when he heard them.

More footsteps, more conversation, doors opening near them, water running. Bruce was relentless, biting down on the muscle of Clint's shoulder to mute his own cries as Clint intentionally tightened up around Bruce's cock. Face against the cool tile, Clint felt the ripples of desire, the rising tide of his climax; he thought of someone wondering down the row of stalls, seeing their feet, realizing what was happening – he couldn't stand it, it was so fucking hot.

"Tonight," Bruce's voice was nothing but the barest whisper, "You'll come all over yourself and I'll lick it all off, every single drop."

And that was it, too much for Clint. His hips jerked forward and he was coming, pearly liquid covering the wall in front of him, Bruce's hand extracting every last drop. His body shuddered and he knew a groan escaped, but he was too far gone to care. He felt Bruce speed up, his hands holding Clint's hips fast, fingers digging in, and Clint braced himself and moved back, tight and clenching around Bruce; when Bruce let himself go, satisfaction washed through him as the warmth flooded his legs, Bruce's gasps buried in Clint's shoulder.

"Think anyone noticed we left?" Clint settled into the back seat of the taxi as Bruce gave the directions back to Stark Tower.

"I suspect I'm going to win the pool on Steve and Tony. Did you see how Tony was looking at him?" Bruce didn't complain when Clint's leg pressed against the length of his, slipping his arm around Clint's shoulders. Their releases earlier only made them both want to get home soon, to spend the rest of the evening exploring each other's body, making promises with nothing but their lips.

"Much as I hate to agree, I think Steve said something. Tony looked positively hopeful." Clint's hand skimmed down Bruce's inner thigh, bumping against his crotch before retreating. "That's going to be a major can of worms, you know."

"Ummm, but very fun to watch. I do know Tony's secret protocols for videos." He nuzzled Clint's neck.

"You sly dog," Clint's eyes suddenly lit up with mischief. "So you can access the videos of us?"

Bruce smelled it before he felt the effects; tingles crawled up his arms and his eyesight went fuzzy. Fast-acting, the drug left him with only second to see Clint's head fall against his shoulder as his body sagged downward.

And then everything went dark.


	8. Chapter 8: Though this be madness

Though This be Madness,

or Please Don't Throw Me in the Briar Patch

Clint woke up, cold of the cement seeping into his body, raw ache in his side, pounding pulse in his head. Trying to remember. The fundraiser. Bruce pressing him against the wall. The taxi. Blows from fists, sharp pain, kicks to the head.

"Oh, hell, why do I always end up naked and covered in bruises? Honest-to-god, I didn't start it this time." He groaned as he tried to move; his stomach was tender and riddled with angry red and purple splotches.

"Because you always shoot first." The smooth voice rippled with humor. "And don't know when you have lost the game."

He turned his head; Loki sat in a folding metal chair, the only furniture in the empty warehouse room. Dressed in a smart suit, perfectly pressed, he casually swung his crossed leg as he watched Clint.

"Han Solo. That's me. And just when I didn't think things could get worse," pressing through the agony, Clint sat up; he could almost feel the broken bones rubbing together, "here you are. Slipped your chain, did you?"

"Amora is very good at what she does," Loki absently waved his hand, and the woman in question appeared behind him. "Aren't you, love?"

"Humans are so easy to deceive," she practically purred, arm curling around Loki's neck as she bent down to give him a kiss on his forehead. "This one was so ready to believe the worst about himself. I could play with him awhile if don't want him. I owe him."

"I see you've found the yin to your yang." Clint coughed, speckles of blood spattering on the floor. "Be sure and tell me where you're registered so I can get you that blender. And you owe me a very nice suit. I liked the blue one."

"Smart mouth to the end. And make no mistake, this is the end of our little game."

A roar shook the metal walls, not too far away. Clint flinched at the sound, hearing the agony in the Big Guy's voice.

"Let me guess. Monica's going to shoot Bruce with her latest drug of choice, get him good and angry in order to turn him loose on the city? And, of course, we're conveniently near a neighborhood with kids. Biggest chance of the most collateral damage." Another roar, even more frantic. "See the wind must be Southerly because I know a handsaw when I see it."

"There may be method to her madness, but her tactics are not crude. You humans are so petty." Loki smirked, enjoying Clint's pain.

"Yeah, we're a piece of work, I know. But what I don't know is my place in the final act. Wrong taxi, wrong time? Payback for you? Or just another way to hurt Bruce?"

"You overestimate your worth to me, archer. You're nothing but a means to an end, what is that wonderful phrase? A quintessence of dust. See," he turned to Amora, "there are some signs of higher intelligence here on Midgard. I do so enjoy the Bard's work." Loki was smug, and Clint didn't like it. The Asgardian thought he had everything worked out.

"I suspect Monica would prefer to throw me in with the Hulk and let him rip me limb from limb while she watched. The bitch really carries a grudge."

"That is one of the options. Would you prefer that to my punishment?" Loki rose from his chair, Amora following close behind as they crossed the room to where Clint sat, barely able to stay upright. "Or shall I leave you to your lover's fists?"

"I get a choice?" more coughing, more blood. "Okay, I'll go with 'kill me now' Alex for $200."

Loki's sly smile widened as a crash of metal reverberated, the walls vibrating. "Soon they'll give him the final dose. No coming back from that one."

"Fine. I'll go with you. Assuming I can walk, that is."

"Death or me over your beloved Big Guy? I should be flattered. But I know how you think; come with me, plan your escape, gather your motley band, and save the good doctor. Unfortunately, the amount of internal bleeding in your body means killing you is a moot point." Loki towered over him. "So why would I not just give you over to your fate?"

"Because I would go willingly. Of my own free will." Clint looked him in the eye; if he'd learned nothing else from his time under the scepter's control, he knew the one thing Loki wanted the most. To know that someone wanted him, choose him over others.

"You'd go to save your life," he sneered, but something sparked in his face, a softening.

"It's a choice. And I'm free to make it." For a moment, Loki seemed to consider it.

"Amora, heal him enough for him to stand and walk, but leave him in pain." Loki ordered the blonde. "He needs to be able to try to run when the monster comes for him."

"Son of a bitch … oh, wait, you don't know who you mother is, do you," Clint spat at the retreating figure. "You'll die alone, you know. Never knowing who to trust."

Soft hands touched his shoulders, and Amora crouched by him, warmth radiating from her fingers. "Tell Thor I said he's welcome," she whispered in Clint's ear. A wave of nausea rolled up his chest, but it passed quickly as he felt internal organs shifting, bones knitting. Bruises didn't heal as the pain began to dissipate, but the sharp spikes in his stomach lessened.

Three yellow suited men grabbed him, taking delight in Clint's groans as they brutally dragged him out of the room. They finally stopped, hesitating; they looked at each other, obviously not wanting to open the large metal door.

"Rock, paper, scissors?" the one on the left asked. The other two shook their heads. With a frustrated look, the speaker pressed the button. Even before the door clicked and started to swing out, the men holding him thrust him forward into the widening gap. As he slumped to the floor, feet kicked him the rest of the way in, slamming the door behind him. He stayed where he had fallen, half-upright, folded in on himself.

The wall to his left boasted a large viewing screen, thick safety glass that protected the people behind. Monica Rappacini stood watching, Loki behind her, two other people in lab coats at computer terminals. She gave Clint an angry smile, her face made ugly by the hatred etched there. But his attention was immediately drawn to the Hulk; metal restraints circled his wrists where he crouched in the corner, eyes red, skin mottled with patches of grey.

"Hey, Big Guy." Clint spoke softly. "You in there?"

"Cupid?" His voice was weak, but definitely his.

"No more chances." Monica's voice came over the speaker. "Time for the last dose."

"Seriously, all this because Bruce turned you down? Surely you knew he batted for the other team? Or did you think you could 'change' him?" Clint let his voice shake. "Seems overkill, doesn't it? Compensate much?"

"Bruce turned his back on pure science, opting for the likes of you, nothing but brute force. He's a genius, like me, and should be solving the world's problems."

"Wyle E. Coyote. Super genius. Things worked out so well for him, didn't they?" Clint turned his laugh into a cough. "Outsmarted by a bird. Better look down and see if you've run out of cliff."

"Start the program." She ignored Clint completely. "Be sure video is recording and get the door ready to open after the extra one is dead. I want Bruce to be able to see it over and over again."

The metal restraints emitted beeps followed by a hiss; the reaction was almost instantaneous. Throwing his head back, the Hulk howled, an unearthly sounded that sliced into Clint's heart. Everyone flinched and Loki smiled as the whites of the Big Guy's eyes went red and he surged up, charging at Clint.

"It's me," Clint called as the Big Guy stormed across the room. "It's Clint."

The Hulk paused, feet planted just short of Clint's body, forcing Clint to crane his neck back to look up. The massive naked green body blocked Clint from sight of the viewing room.

"Meep, meep," came the whisper. Red eyes faded to brown, and lips curled up in what could only be called a feral smile.

"Go for it, Big Guy. Smash 'em good."

For such a large mass, the Hulk could spin on a dime, and he did, crashing both fists into the plexiglass; the thick sheet shattered with an ominous boom, a spider web of cracks rippling across before they blew inward. One scientist fell back, shielding his eyes. Monica gave a squeal and darted for the door, followed by the other A.I.M. operatives. Surprise warred with a touch of concern on Loki's face before he disappeared.

The door behind Clint swung outward; men rushed in, weapons drawn and ready. Clint let his body fall to the floor, and then rolled into their path, tripping two who collapsed. Jumping up, he snagged one of the dropped weapons and bashed the end of the semi-automatic into another man's head.

"Restraints!" He screamed over the sound of rending metal as the Hulk tore a big guy size hole in the wall. "Smash the restraints!" Lashing out with a kick followed by a roundhouse punch, Clint took another down, dodging a tranquilizer dart. "Not going to work, moron. He's too angry." The man's eyes widened just as a green hand grabbed his arm, lifted him up and shook him. Many of the others dropped their weapons and fled at the prospect of facing the Hulk; Clint took out two more who thought he was an easier target, and then there were no more left standing.

"Road runner wins!" The Hulk crowed in his happy voice.

"Good job, Jade Jaws. You had me scared there for a minute." It didn't even occur to Clint that both of them were naked in a room full of unconscious bodies. "You did great."

"Now Big Guy want rolled pasta with white stuff. And fancy dessert."

"Manicotti and Tiramisu, it is." Clint poked his head out in the hallway, checking for any other targets.

"Cupid?" The Hulk paused as he looked into what used to be the control room. "Light blinking. Red bad, right?"

The self-destruct sequence was silently counting down.

"Time to leave. Like, now." Clint sprinted for the exit; the Hulk caught him easily, slinging him over his large green shoulder, and jumped up through the outer wall, protecting Clint with his own body.

"Leave it to you to find a way to fight naked." Natasha shook her head, amused; she was still in her little black dress from the luncheon, smart, sexy heels making her look inches taller.

"Hey, it's not my fault!" Clint protested, and then wiggled his eyebrows at her. "I have been told I have a nice ass, by the way."

"Nice ass or not, Agent Barton," Fury said as he strode up. "Mind nailing it to the ground and telling me what the fuck is going on?"

"A.I.M. made its play. Loki is free from Asgard. Oh, and Amora broke out of S.H.E.I.L.D. custody," Clint begain.

"Sir, we have Ms. Rappacini in custody," Agent Quartermain announced. He was avoiding looking at either Clint or the Hulk, both of whom were still in their birthday suits despite the crush of Avengers and S.H.E.I.L.D. agents in the alleyway. "We arrived just as she exited the building, along with two scientists. She had a portable drive and a number of chemical samples that are now in our custody."

"How did you find us?" Clint wondered, shifting from foot to foot as the air grew cooler with the onset of evening.

"When Amora escaped, we used Tony's tracking method to follow her," Thor added helpfully. "We were surprised when you emerged and the building exploded."

"Yeah, about that. She had a message for you. Said to say you're welcome. I wouldn't be standing if she hadn't worked some mojo on me." He rubbed his arms where goosebumps had broken out.

"Amora does only what is in her best interests. She helped you because she determined Loki wasn't on the winning side. I know her well."

"Know her as in the Biblical sense?" Tony asked as he and Steve walked up; he tossed a bundle of clothes at Clint. "Here. Before the sight of you two is permanently burned into my retinas." Clint unfolded a pair of Tony's miracle stretch pants for the Big Guy and a pair of jeans and shirt for himself. They were a little snug around the chest, arms and waist, but it was better than walking around naked.

"Know as in understand." Thor missed Tony's jab. "She is a complicated woman."

"Just a safety tip, but I wouldn't say that to Jane." Tony laid his hand on Thor's shoulder. "Women tend to be jealous of ex-girlfriends, especially psycho-witch types."

"Excuse me, sir," Clint cut through the conversation to speak to Fury. "The Big Guy took a lot of abuse today. I want to get him back to the Tower while he's still on his feet and check for aftereffects. She dosed him up pretty high. Besides, I promised him Italian food.

Fury nodded and raised his voice to be heard. "Okay, people, reconvene in the briefing room in one hour. Quartermain, contain the scene here and get our people to sweep for anything left. Hill can handle the media fallout."

"Pasta now?" The Hulk asked as his stomach rumbled loudly. "Hulk hungry."

"Soon as we get back …" Clint began

"Already put the order in. Maggie's working on it and Happy can swing by and pick it up on our way back." Tony shot back as he walked away.

The ride in the back of the truck was bumpy, but Clint didn't mind.


	9. We are Arrant Knaves All

"So, let's go over this one more time."

Clint was going to kill Maria Hill. Fucking kill her right where she sat in that rolling chair, moving it slightly back and forth in time to some beat only she could hear. So calm and cool; if she asked him one more question, his eyes were going to go green with rage, and he was going to launch himself over the table and strangle her to shut her up.

"Tell me exactly what Loki said about Amora."

Tapping her stylus against her notepad, she hardly even looked at him as she asked the same question for the seventeenth time. Hands clenched, teeth grinding, jaw so tight he could hear his angry exhale, Clint battled his need to lash out at this infuriating debriefing.

"What is the purpose, I ask you, of making me repeat this again?"

"We have to determine if Amora was working alone or with someone, Clint."

Steve was trying to calm Clint, but it was long past the time for level-headedness. No one was saying, but Clint could read between the lines. They suspected him, thought he had something to do with the whole mess.

"Why don't you just fucking ask me if I had anything to do with it," he slammed his hands on the table and stood up. "Because I'm tired of this little dance. The answer is no, I did not put explosives in lab with Bruce and Carol. I did not send photos to the tabloids and a file to myself. And I sure as hell didn't kidnap me, beat me until I was almost dead, and then throw myself in a room with the angry Hulk."

Steve flinched at the tirade, but Hill sat silent and calm in the face of Clint's anger.

"Clint, no one is suggesting that you …" Steve began, but Maria cut him off.

"The files track back to your access. You were conveniently not present when the bombs exploded. And the only proof we have of your 'beating' is your word for it and a smoking crater in the ground where a building used to be." Hill spoke in a tight, clipped voice. "She was in your head, agent. We can't be sure of anything."

"Bullshit. You've already decided. Just drop the axe and let me get some sleep."

"Wait, wait," Steve stood too. "You are not going to …."

"Pending further investigation, Agent Barton, you are relieved from duty as of this moment. All access to S.H.E.I.L.D. facilities will be revoked. Turn in your weapons, ID, and don't leave this city until a decision has been reached on your permanent status."

"Maria, this is exactly what they want. To make us doubt each other. Don't do this." Steve argued, but Hill held firm.

"The integrity of S.H.E.I.L.D. must be protected, Captain. Proper protocol must be observed."

"It's fine, Steve." Clint actually felt relieved to hear the pronouncement; he'd known it was coming at least two hours into this fiasco of a meeting. "Got plenty of vacation pay. Hell, maybe Cirque du Soleil is hiring. I can shoot underwater pretty damn well."

"Suspension from S.H.E.I.L.D. doesn't mean you aren't a member of this team, soldier. I expect you to suit up for the next mission." Steve clapped him on the shoulder, but Clint saw Maria's face as he did. No way in hell would he be allowed to continue as one of the Avengers.

"Thanks for the thought, Cap, but I doubt that's going to happen." He nodded towards Hill and turned to leave. "Oh, Maria? The bow is mine. Paid for and everything. Check the paperwork Coulson filed. All the arrows I designed are patented in my name. Try to take them at your own risk."

"Suspension? What the fuck?" Tony stormed across his office to the bar and opened a bottle of Glenlivet, pouring three glasses. Natasha grabbed one and downed most of the smooth scotch in one long drink. Thor sniffed and swirled before he sipped; Tony was turning him into a scotch connoisseur. He didn't bother to even offer one to Steve, taking the third for himself. "What the hell is Fury up to?"

"Bruce will be very upset. This is not good." Thor did a double-take as he tasted the expensive liquor, then drank slowly again.

"Protocol," Natasha said as Tony splashed more in her glass. "Loki wins even when he fails. Damn bureaucracy and paperwork. Coulson thrived on it. If he were here, he'd have it all handled, in triplicate, and no one would tell him no." She drained the alcohol and hopped off the stool. "First Phil. Now Clint. I think my time with S.H.E.I.L.D. is pretty much done."

"Natasha, wait," Steve called to her, afraid he was watching the first cracks in this team that had become like a family to him. "We don't need to go off half-cocked on this. Once the investigation is done, they'll reinstate him."

"Yeah, but that's two strikes in their eyes. The scepter and now the enchantress. You really think they'll trust him again?" Tony leaned on his elbow.

"Not helping, Tony," Steve sighed. "I'm trying to stop this team from falling apart here."

"I do not understand. Why would this affect us?" Thor asked. "I do not fight for Fury. Neither does Tony. Can Clint not be the same?"

A grin split Tony's face. "Exactly right. The question is, do the Avengers work for S.H.E.I.L.D. or not? I don't get a paycheck. Technically, I think you're still Army, right Steve?"

"Fury pays the bills," Steve reminded him, but Tony waved that away.

"My building, my company pays. Maybe Fury covers some weapons and other incidentals, but Stark Industries is already footing part of the cost. We just make it 100%."

"Are you suggesting the Avengers go freelance?" Natasha had stopped at the elevator.

"No one's going to go for it," Steve argued, but he smiled a little at the thought.

"That's what they said when I came out as Iron Man, and when I wanted to use sustainable power for the building." Tony was completely jazzed by the idea. "Might just have to change the name though. Avengers Tower. And we'll need our own jet. I saw some prototypes …."

Clint lay awake for a long time, unable to quiet his brain enough to fall asleep. He tried to keep his restlessness at bay so he didn't wake Bruce, ending up on his side, the two men facing each other. Tomorrow was soon enough to worry about where to go and what do; he'd think about how to tell both the doc and the Big Guy later. But he couldn't get it out of his head; doubt gnawed his gut and fears played on his psychic VCR. There had been a time in life, and not too long ago, when he would have just moved on, headed out on his own with ease; things were different now, and most of it was due to the people just a few floors above him, probably arguing right this second about what to do. If he was honest, the job didn't matter. S.H.E.I.L.D. or no S.H.E.I.L.D., he would survive without it. The problem was that he didn't _want _to be on his own anymore. First Natasha then Phil and now the rest of them – Steve, Tony, Thor – they had all somehow found their way past his emotional defenses.

And then there was Bruce, chest rising and falling, relaxed in sleep. Clint propped himself up on an elbow and let his fingers weave into Bruce's curly brown hair, feeling the texture, tracing a gray patch that started near his temple. Brushing locks off Bruce's face, he wondered just what the hell he was doing here, how things had gotten to this point so quickly. Bruce looked younger when he slept, the stress lines disappearing; Clint smoothed Bruce's brow and skimmed down the side. The long strokes soothed Clint, so he kept caressing the lines of Bruce's face, the angle of his jaw, the strong column of his throat, the curve of his shoulder.

This … this thing … whatever it was they had … should terrify him, complicate his life, make him vulnerable and open to attack. But it didn't. In fact, the only time he felt at ease, safe, was when he was here, touching Bruce, feeling the beat under his palm as he flattened his hand over Bruce's heart. Closing his eyes, he remembered the peace of dreamless sleep, of being held tight, skin to skin.

"Clint?" Bruce mumbled, not really awake. "Briefing done?" He unfolded the arm under his head and threaded it between Clint's chest and the bed, resting a hand on Clint's back, taking comfort in the touch.

"All done." Clint dropped a kiss on Bruce's shoulder. "Go back to sleep."

"Don't want to." Bruce's hand covered Clint's where it rested on his chest. "Feels good." Eyes drifted back closed, but Bruce shifted onto his back, taking Clint with him; stretched out, half on top of Bruce, Clint swept his hand in long, slow contacts of palm to skin, down to the hip, along the outside of the thigh and back up. He followed with drawn out kisses, feather light grazes of tongue, across the expansion of the lean chest, moving as he stroked and tasted down the side of the hip, along the outside of the thigh, all the way to the foot. Even the gentlest of touches on the sole of Bruce's foot made his body twitch. Clint laughed.

"Ticklish? Oh, I can't wait to see if the Big Guy is too."

"No tickling," Bruce murmured, his eyes half-open now, filled with desire. "At least not there."

Back up the inside of the leg, Clint skimmed his fingers, looking for sensitive spots; he licked the back of Bruce's knee until Bruce sighed, nipped at the smooth inner thigh until Bruce writhed his hips. Just as he reached the top, he went back down to the other foot and started again, tickling, kissing, stroking. He learned that there was a spot just behind Bruce's left knee that made him curse out loud when Clint grazed it with his lips.

"Clint, quit teasing." Seemed even Bruce had limits on his patience for slow. Clint smiled, his pleasure evident in driving Bruce to beg.

"How do you want it?" Fingers grazed Bruce's cock as Clint sat up, looking at the length of the lean body laid out before him.

"I want to see you."

Pulling open the bed side drawer, Clint understood the feeling; he wanted to watch every emotion cross Bruce's face, read the climax coming in those brown depths. "We can do that." Slick hand slid down, circling, and then slowly pressed one finger past the tight muscle. He paused at the knuckle and slipped back out to the tip, then back in, maddeningly slow as he enjoyed Bruce's responses. "Someone once told me that delayed gratification was worth the wait."

"Don't listen to him," Bruce growled. "Faster is good."

Keeping the slow rhythm, Clint began kissing Bruce's stomach, dipping his tongue into the belly button in time with each languid press of his finger. Once his finger was all the way inside, Clint circled lazily before he eased back out. Bruce's cock jerked with each deliberate twist, and he groaned, moving his hips in concert, pushing back to take Clint's finger deeper each time. "Clint, Clint," he breathed. "Please."

"Please? You have to tell me what you want, Bruce."

"I want … your tongue… that damn cocky mouth." Clint made him moan, stretching the tightness with a second finger.

"Any particular way you want me to use it?" he leaned over, blowing across Bruce's cock as he spoke.

"God, Clint." Bruce pushed upwards, bringing his cock closer to Clint's mouth. "Fuck me with it."

Lips parted and took the head in, tongue circling the rim, gradually sliding down. As his mouth pulled up, he pushed his fingers in; then he pulled them out of Bruce as he sucked the wet cock back in. And then he did it again, and again, and again. Bruce sank his hands into Clint's hair and urged him on, but Clint held pace as Bruce's muscles clenched, and he thrust upwards into Clint's mouth. He heard his name tumble from Bruce's lips, felt the bowing on his back, the ripple as Bruce came, and he took it all in, the taste flooding his mouth and senses, licking Bruce clean as he withdrew his fingers. With a moment to lube up, he was ready, pushing his aching cock into the tight heat even as Bruce's body still shuddered from the release; contractions squeezed him as he sheathed himself as deep as he could go. Hooking Bruce's knees over his shoulders, he pressed a little further, changing the angle by dropping his arms to the bed and leaning into Bruce.

"Come for me." Bruce said as his hands pulled Clint down for a hard kiss, but Clint made it as slow and thorough as his invasion of Bruce's body with each sensual, slow thrust. It wouldn't be long before he did what Bruce asked, and being with Bruce, tight inside him, feeling the brush of stubble as faces rubbed, he realized, was simple, not complex at all. The building of his climax, hips moving faster, bodies sweating together … this was what he needed. With a final thrust, he came with a groan. The day's events faded into the haze of his release, and he sagged down as Bruce let his legs slide to hug Clint's hips. As he trembled through the aftermath, Bruce's arms caught him and held him tight.

"Stay here. I'll be right back." Clint pushed up and off Bruce.

"There are towels in the bottom drawer."

"Mr. Practical," Clint smiled at Bruce's fastidiousness, but it was convenient to grab one to clean both of them up. "Going to let me toss it in the corner?"

"Hamper, beyond the couch. You can make the shot." And, of course, he did; he crawled under the covers and back into Bruce's arms, let himself be gathered up and held, head resting on Bruce's shoulder. They fell into silence, and Clint yawned, lethargy stealing up on him.

"Are you going to tell me what happened?" Bruce asked as he circled his hand over the small of Clint's back.

Clint waited a few heartbeats before he spoke. "I'm officially suspended."

Bruce's hand stilled, fingers curling into a fist. "What the hell are they thinking?" he ground out between clenched teeth; Clint tensed, but then felt Bruce exhale. "Damn. I'm sorry, Clint."

"Don't worry about it. I've got a plan or two." He stroked Bruce's shoulder. "Not going to run off and join the circus, that's for sure."

"Look at me." Bruce ordered. Clint lifted his head, let Bruce see the concern in his eyes. "If you leave, I'm going with you. Stark Industries has R & D facilities all over the world. Maybe somewhere with good sushi or where they grow chilies so hot they make your eyes water just thinking about them." His feelings were all there in Bruce's eyes, unspoken, because it didn't need to be said out loud to be any less true.

"Actually, I was thinking Tony needs better security around this place; too damn easy to gain access to the building and the system. Clint Barton, Head of Stark Tower Security. What do you think? Sounds good, right?" He winked.

"I think you'd be great at the job. Except that you'd be working for Tony, and you'd fight all the time." Clint could feel Bruce relaxing beneath him at the idea him of staying put. "He'd piss you off on a daily basis."

"Yeah, but I'd make him pay me a king's ransom and I'd get a company car. A Bentley Supersport in that silver metallic color. Loaded." He wiggled a little to get comfortable, tucking his knee between Bruce's legs and slipping his foot over Bruce's, his favorite sleeping position, resting his chin on his hand. "We could drive up the coast for lobster po'boys in the fall with the top down, find one of those inns that's haunted where they don't have cell phone reception."

"You're really okay with this?" Surprise colored Bruce's voice, and Clint couldn't blame him. Everything had been so surreal lately, with ghostly visits, constant danger, and drugs that messed with their heads.

"Actually, I'm re-examining my priorities – see I do listen to the shrinks when they drone on – and not being a S.H.E.I.L.D agent for a bit might just be what I need. Haven't had a real vacation in … well, I'm not sure … does a movie night count?"

"It's just … I mean … do you want to stay here?" Bruce asked quietly, and Clint could hear the words he didn't say – "with me" – hanging between them.

"Yes. With you." It wasn't that hard to say, not really, and Clint wondered why he had worried about it so much. "If that's what you want."

"I want you, Clint, and I'll take you anyway I can get you."

He smiled, relieved at the answer, and looked Bruce straight in the eyes, wanting nothing to get lost in the translation.

"As you wish, Bruce. As you wish."


	10. Chapter 10: epilogue

Epilogue

The quinjet flew over the hills of Pennsylvania, crossing over Amish country. More careful than usual, Natasha banked gently, making a smooth descent. Behind them, the metal gurney was strapped down tightly, machines blinking green as they kept Carol Danvers in her induced coma.

"Wasn't Harvey supposed to fly Carol up here?" Clint sat in the co-pilot seat, foot propped on the dashboard, watching Natasha finesse the controls. "And I doubt you got permission for me to tag along."

"I gave him third row tickets to _The Book of Mormon_ for his anniversary next week." She kept her focus on their approach to the facility below, circling towards the landing pad. "His wife will love the show. And you know perfectly well visitors are allowed on the jets if they are under supervision of official personnel."

"Why? So you could spend the whole flight talking about Tony's latest hare-brained plan to franchise the Avengers?" Clint shook his head. "Not buying it, Nat."

"Maybe I wanted to make sure you were okay?" She dropped the landing gear.

"Yes, I'm okay. No, I'm not going to flee the state or country just yet. Yes, I talked to Bruce. No, I don't think Fury's going to go for Tony's freelance idea." Flashing her a cocky grin, he checked to make sure Carol was still secure. "Can I count this as a psych session? Oh, wait, I don't have to do those anymore."

"You're enjoying this far too much. Maybe I should get myself suspended too." She lowered the jet down, touching the concrete pad with not even so much as a light bounce. "Or is it just the steady diet of sex?"

"Isn't the new boy toy working out?" Clint grinned wickedly and didn't even mind the killing look Nat shot him. He enjoyed teasing Nat, mostly because he rarely got a chance to really get her goat. "When are you going to bring him to movie night?"

Dropping the back gate, Natasha chose to ignore Clint's jib, and she helped oversee the aides in green scrubs who arrived with the doctors, carefully moving the motionless woman and all the equipment. Clint roamed behind her in his dark pants and black polo, hanging back as they rolled Carol through the sliding doors.

"Would you mind grabbing some coffee before we head back?" She asked, as if he was a subordinate, less important. A familiar gambit, he fell into his role easily. "No more than 15 minutes we'll be wheels up."

"Yes, ma'am." He bobbed his head and moved off before anyone could stop him. The signal was clear; Natasha wanted him to check the place out. Turning left, he wandered off, looking for a cafeteria in the Stark Industries research facility. Scientists worked behind glass windows in the first corridor, none of them giving him more than a passing glance; the second turn brought him past what looked like offices and meeting rooms with a hospital feel, clean but enough personal clutter to give the impression real people worked there. He found a small break room with fresh coffee … surprisingly decent brew at that … and carried the two cups, one with sugar and cream, the other black, as he continued exploring.

By the third turn, Clint was feeling out of place, his boots squeaking on the tile floor between the doors of private rooms, many empty. Glancing in each, he strode purposefully past the nurses' station, acting like he knew where he was going. He came to the next turn, stopped, and backed up to the last room on the left, tucked in a corner. A maze of machines along the walls had lights dancing up and down; the whispering sound of air moving through plastic greeted him as he quietly entered. With an unnatural stillness, the man in the bed lay, connected with wires and tubes to all the electronics like scene from some science fiction movie.

"Damn it, Coulson," he murmured. He sat the cups down on a counter and stepped up beside the bed, covering the still hand with his own. "God damn Fury and his secrets."

"He's like Carol," Natasha said from the doorway. "They are keeping him in a coma because they don't know what will happen when he wakes up. The radiation from the staff. It's still present in his system."

"When Amora was picking my brain, making me see him," Clint said, "we had a conversation about it. Guess I was worried about how the staff affected both of us."

"Makes sense, Clint." Natasha assured him. "Hell, you're sleeping with the world's expert on gamma rays, so, of course, you'd reach that conclusion."

"How did you find out he was here?" All told, Clint thought, Phil looked like he could easily sit up at any moment. Probably ask them how the battle went and if Steve signed those damned cards.

"As long as I was in the system tracking you, I poked around a little bit. Turns out, treating gamma poisoning is a very specialized field. This is only one of three places in the world that ever orders a specialized isotope for that and, starting just two days after Coulson died, they began a monthly standing shipment. One that just doubled to include Carol since samples were in the lab when it exploded."

Clint thought about the mourning they'd all shared; it was just like Fury to use Coulson's 'death' to energize the team. "This is Fury's m.o., but how the hell did Tony keep it a secret?"

"He doesn't know. S.H.E.I.L.D. has a contract with the facility, filtered through a number of dummy corporations. I doubt the people here have any idea who's paying the bills for patient 432042."

"Bruce should be working on this." Clint grew angry at the thought of wasted time, how they could have been helping. Tony's resources, Cap's resolve, Thor's knowledge of other worldly ways to treat illness … Phil could have been watching movies with them and arguing about sub-titles.

"We need to go, Clint." Sounds from the hall filtered in, footsteps, movements, voices. Clint's hand slipped off of Coulson's, and he strode out of the room with purpose, picking up the coffees for cover, following Natasha on a different path out of the building.

"You know what this means?" Clint finally broke the silence after they were airborne and sure the comm channels were jammed.

"That you're not crazy?" Natasha cocked her head as she looked at him. "You may have everyone else fooled, but I know you're crazy like a fox."

"Nah, it means Bruce and Tony will worry the problem until he's back …. And then Coulson can give me that disappointed look at getting myself suspended before he starts catching up on all the damn paperwork that we haven't done in the last six months."

That thought made Clint smile even wider as Tasha laughed and turned the jet for home.


End file.
